Angels & Phantoms
by poetzproblem
Summary: Revised edition. Christine has surrendered to her true heart's desire, but is she strong enough to bring her angel into the light? EC. ALW Movie based. COMPLETE
1. In Dreams

**Author's Note:** While working on _Little Conversations_, the RM follow up to this story, I started thinking I had really short-changed Erik & Christine. After all, there would be no _Phantom of the Opera_ without those two, so I decided I really needed to revise their story. But as I am very attached to the general storyline and character interaction (conversations) in the original _Angels & Phantoms_, I decided to keep most of it intact and build up the story around it.

Hence this revision…and I will soon be taking the original down.

It is still mostly fluff.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'em. What more can I say?

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Angels & Phantoms

In Dreams

_It's over now the music of the night…_

She had looked back...even as Raoul reminded her of their promise for the future, Christine Daae had looked back. Deep within the cellars of the Opera Populaire, the voice of her fallen angel lingered. Her heart clenched tightly at the haunting echo, the burn of tears stinging her eyes.

_You should be happy, Christine, you are finally free. You will soon be married to Raoul. You will never see your dark angel again..._

_Oh, God, never hear his sweet music again..._

Christine bit off a strangled sob and looked back to her fiancée, his tender expression promising love and protection. "We are safe, Christine. He will never hurt you again, my love."

Christine closed her eyes tightly and nodded mutely.

_He will not hurt me again... He will not look on me with those sad adoring eyes... He will not touch me... Never touch me again..._

Trembling almost violently, Christine felt herself enveloped in a strong tender embrace. Raoul's hands pressed against her back in a comforting gesture, attempting to soothe her...to calm her.

But in her mind it was _him_...and her trembling only increased. As if she had somehow willed it, the soft touch of her lover grew bolder...his hands moving steadily down her spine and pulling her body closer. The hard form against her suddenly felt broader than it had, stronger...his lips pressed a heated kiss against her throat and she began to burn…and then she heard his voice..._His voice!_

"Christine, I love you."

Snapping her eyes open, Christine met the endless blue green gaze of her angel. His sensual lips were curved in amusement…his white mask somehow back upon his face. She struggled to break free of him, but his arms only tightened, lifting her body up against his.

His face darkened with passion. "Did you think you could ever be free? Your chains belong to me."

His mouth captured hers possessively and all at once, Christine stopped struggling. The sudden ache within her was too powerful to overcome and she clung to him, her own mouth opening to deepen the kiss. She pressed her lips against his frantically, fisting her hands into his hair and trying in vain to get closer. She needed to get closer, and her mind silently begged him for more.

_Yes. _

_Yes...Angel please... _

_Don't leave me. _

_Don't ever leave me…Angel._

"Angel…!"

Christine jolted upright, her chest heaving; her hair damp with sweat. Her eyes searched the dark room frantically, but there was no one there. She was alone...it had all just been another dream.

Expelling a harsh breath, she sank back into the pillows with tears streaming over her cheeks. It had been nearly two weeks since that night. The night the life she had known had come crashing to an end along with the grand chandelier. Raoul _had_ taken her from the Opera House…he_ had_ held her and comforted her and told her that she was safe now. Indeed, he had spirited her swiftly away from the fire and off to the de Chagny estate outside of the city.

And here she was, another night of fitful sleep filled with dreams of her angel. Always the images were the same...she was in his arms again, his touch awakening a strange fire within her that she could not resist. Sometimes, like tonight, they were in the damp catacombs beneath the Opera…other times they were on the stage during _Don Juan Triumphant_, making love in front of all of Paris. Always she would awaken crying out for her angel.

_Damn it! Why can I not shake these thoughts from my mind?_

_You know why, Christine._

She squeezed her eyes shut against the truth she could no longer deny. Her nights had become her torment, but they were also her salvation. For in her dreams she was with him again, and the terrible emptiness within her was filled. The very light she had sought so desperately had become unbearable to her.

Christine had tried to be happy here with Raoul. She did love him, yes, loved him dearly. He had ensconced her in the finest suite, lavished her with gifts and words of adoration, and spoken to her with such joy about their future marriage. Christine should have cherished these days with him, free of the nightmare that had tormented her. _Free from Him_. But she could not cherish the days when each morning ripped her once again from the arms of her angel.

_No, not an angel…a murderer…_

But Christine's heart could not be turned from him…even as he had given her freedom, he had somehow bound her more tightly to him. For now she was left alone to remember every moment they had shared before her angel had fallen. The moments of kindness and comfort he had offered, the beauty of his voice as he had sung to her. He had been her lifeline…her…life…for so long. Her very soul ached for him now, and her body well remembered the fire of his touch...a fire Christine could not find in herself for Raoul.

And always she would remember his kiss. The first press of her lips had been a plea for freedom and she'd thought only of Raoul's life. _No, not only of Raoul_… she had thought of her angel as well. Sought to ease his pain by offering herself to him, and the offer had not been as horrid as it should have been. The memory of their passionate song had still been lingering on the edges of her mind…a promise left unfulfilled. The first kiss had brought every sensation back. The second kiss had enflamed her desire, and set her heart racing, and for one insane moment she had forgotten Raoul completely.

She would have stayed with her angel. But he had pushed her away, told her to go. Even as Raoul had taken her away, Christine had felt as though a part of her had remained...and now she knew, her angel had been right all along. She would never be free.

_Oh, God, what am I to do? How am I to go on like this?_

_I cannot go on like this._

The images of her dreams danced behind her eyelids and she knew sleep would not come easily.

Christine Daae had finally woken up.

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**A/N:** Kindly let me know what you think of the revision thus far. 


	2. In Mourning

**In Mourning**

Raoul de Chagny sat quietly studying his fiancée across the breakfast table. He could not help but be worried for her, as she seemed each day to lose a little more of her light. She looked especially tired this morning, the dark circles under her eyes telling of a restless night. He feared she was still having nightmares about their ordeal. He certainly was.

"Lotte, are you well? You have hardly touched your breakfast."

Christine raised her shadowed eyes to Raoul, whose face was awash with concerned tenderness. "I am…only a bit tired, Raoul."

"You are still having nightmares."

Christine glanced away in guilt. "I…yes."

Raoul stood from his chair and moved closer to Christine, kneeling beside her. "Oh, Christine…it is only natural after all that you have been through…all that _we_ have been through. But we are safe now, my love." He traced loving fingers across her cheek. "I've received some news just this morning which may ease both our minds."

Christine's breath caught, a thick knot of apprehension suddenly twisting in her stomach. "N-news?"

Raoul smiled gently. "Monsieur Firmin has sent word on the search of the cellars and catacombs."

Christine gasped, her voice a choked whisper. "They have…found…him?"

Raoul dropped his eyes slightly, sighing in frustration that the news was not exactly what he had hoped. "No…not exactly. The police have found no trace of the phantom, but they suspect that he may be…gone for good."

Christine shook her head. "But if they did not find him…?"

Raoul cupped her face his hands reassuringly. "Christine, listen…several gentleman who were present in the mob that night have testified that they caught a glimpse of him, and shots were fired." Christine gasped again, and Raoul pressed on. "The police searched the tunnel they'd claimed to be in and found a pool of…blood…and a trail that disappeared into the river."

Christine was breathing heavily now, tears pooling in her eyes, and once again shaking her head in vehement denial. She gripped Raoul's shoulders. "But they did not find him…they did not find a body…"

Raoul tried to calm her, thinking she was frightened that the phantom would still come for her. "They may never find one, Little Lotte, but you must not worry. The police are still on alert."

"No. No, no, no…" Christine fell weeping into Raoul's arms and he held her closely, whispering gentle words of reassurance. But she could not hear them, her mind was spinning with despair.

_The Phantom is dead. Your angel is dead._

_No! He cannot be. I would feel it!_

"Christine, you must try to calm yourself. It is over now…truly over."

Christine extricated herself from her fiancée's arms, tears still falling freely. "P-please, Raoul…I…think I…need…to be alone for a time…"

His brows drew together in concern. "Are you certain, Christine? I could sit with you awhile…"

She gave a short shake of her head. "No. I…" Her voice cracked slightly, and she bit back another sob. All she could think of was her angel.

Raoul studied Christine closely, nodding slowly. "Very well. I understand this has all been rather stressful…of course you will need more time to finally believe we are free."

Christine drew a ragged breath, wiping at her tears. Raoul could never understand. _She_ had not truly understood…until this moment. Her heart had not left the Opera.

_Oh, God, I left him there to die!_

She stumbled blindly back to her bedchamber, locking the door and throwing herself upon the bed to weep for the fate of her phantom. A pain unlike any she had ever felt assaulted her…grief and regret and guilt weighing on her soul. _She_ had done this..._she_ had brought this hell upon them all. A frightened, silly child who could not admit her own desire. Who had sought constant shelter…first from her angel…then from her childhood sweetheart. If only she could have faced her fears, perhaps it could have all ended so differently.

_But it cannot have ended like this._

_I must go back. I must know what has become of him. If only I could see him once more…_

Raoul would not permit her to return to Paris alone, of this Christine was certain. He had coddled her since that night, watching her every waking moment. And when Raoul was not watching, his parents certainly were, with their disapproving looks and cold, painful politeness. She felt she was suffocating, and she could not bear it. She wanted to be happy; to love Raoul as she had before…

Christine took several deep breaths, again wiping at her tears. Returning to Paris seemed suddenly vital to her. She needed to be there, to see the Opera Populaire again, to see Meg and Madame Giry...and to know if her angel still lived. _He must still live._ Perhaps she could let go of the past and finally be able to give herself over completely to her future with Raoul. Her life could never move forward until she left this terrible limbo she had been in for so long. She would ask Raoul, beg him if need be…surely he loved her enough to allow her this one thing.

xXx

Downstairs, Raoul sat pensively staring towards the window. He worried for Christine. He had thought bringing her to his family's estate in the country would soothe her, bring a smile back to her face and joy back into her eyes, but she only seemed to sink deeper into depression each day. The news from Paris should have brought her some relief, but it had only seemed to further upset her.

_Certainly she cannot be grieving for that…thing!_

He scowled and shook his head. Christine had some strange empathy for the creature, of course, but surely her fear of him far outweighed that. Raoul wished dearly he could have given her assurance that the phantom was gone for good, but there was no body and that monster had a talent for escape. He could well be plotting to kidnap Christine once again.

_But he did let us both go. He could have killed me and kept her forever, yet he did not._

Raoul sighed wearily, closing his eyes to replay that night. The wretched images of Christine in that demon's arms were forever burned into his memory. For one insane moment, Raoul had actually believed that she…but no, Christine had saved them both. She only needed time to recover from the ordeal, and then they would be married.

He smiled a little at the thought. They had been engaged for months now, secretly, and Raoul was eager to begin their life together. Surely it could not be much longer now. After all they had been through, they would finally be together and never have to think of the damned opera ghost again.

Raoul had written his parents with the happy news before the fiasco of _Don Juan Triumphant_, and they had returned to Paris to meet his fiancée. Or rather, to meet her again now that she was grown. The Comte and Comtess de Chagny had arrived home not two days after the ill fated debut of the Phantom's opera, and Christine had been already safely tucked away in the suite Raoul had prepared for her.

His parents had been greatly upset by the tale they were told in Paris. The rumor mill had already churned out the horrid story, greatly embellishing much of it. Comte Philippe had taken his son aside almost immediately and demanded the truth, but Raoul had been reluctant to speak of it in detail.

He frowned now, thinking of how distant they seemed to be with Christine. He had almost expected such a thing from his father, as the Comte had certain prejudices about proper breeding. But Elise de Chagny had a far softer touch, and Raoul had thought she would welcome Christine with open arms. His mother had been polite enough, to be certain, but even she possessed a certain strange aloofness when dealing with her son's fiancée. Raoul feared that this might be contributing to Christine's melancholy, and he knew he must endeavor to do everything within his power to remedy that.

_Whatever she desires shall be hers, as long as she is mine._

_

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_


	3. In Daylight

**In Daylight**

Christine remained shut in her room until late afternoon, and when she finally emerged, she looked pale and sullen. Raoul, as always, was at her side instantly. "Christine, my love, you look most unwell. Perhaps I ought not to have left you alone."

Christine drew a steadying breath. "I am well enough, Raoul. It is only that there are a great many matters that still weigh heavily on my mind. Matters you might help me to settle."

Raoul's face brightened considerably and a smile curved his lips. "Of course, Christine. You know I will help you in any way I can. It will do us both well to finally be able to clear this shadow from our lives."

Christine sighed. "I am glad you feel that way, Raoul, because I must ask if I might borrow a carriage."

Now his brows furrowed in confusion. "A…carriage? Whatever for?"

She met his eyes evenly. "I wish to return to Paris."

A cloud of disbelief passed over his handsome features. "Why would you wish such a thing, Christine? There have been nothing but horrors for us there."

Christine frowned. "That is not true, Raoul. There have been many happy times, as well. I need to go back, if only for a short visit. I must see Meg and Madame again. I miss them so."

His eyes cleared a little. "If that is all, we can invite them here. I will send a carriage to them."

"No, Raoul. I cannot hide away forever. I will never be free of the past if I am always running from it. I only wish to return for one day…perhaps two. I know it seems a strange request, but I…I simply must ask that you grant me this."

Raoul sighed, unable to refuse her. "Very well. We shall go together."

Christine smiled sadly, cupping his cheek. "I would prefer to go alone, Raoul."

He shook his head adamantly. "No. It may yet be unsafe."

"Oh, Raoul. I would be no safer here than there if he had truly wished to take me. You have assured me yourself only this morning that our nightmare is over. If that is true, then let me say my goodbyes in my own way. I am certain I will be safe enough with Madame and Meg."

Raoul hissed out a frustrated breath. _Had he not promised himself he would give her whatever she desired?_ Certainly one day could do no harm if she was well chaperoned by the Girys. "When will you leave?"

Her smile was nearly breathtaking to behold after so many weeks of sorrow. "Oh, thank you, Raoul." She wrapped her arms around him happily and kissed his cheek. "I should like to leave tomorrow, if I may."

Raoul smiled down at her wistfully. "I shall have a carriage and driver at your disposal." Cupping her face tenderly, he placed a gentle kiss upon her lips. "I love you, Little Lotte."

Christine closed her eyes briefly, wishing once again that Raoul's kiss would touch her as her angel's kiss had. "I love you, too, Raoul." And though she meant the words, they somehow sounded hollow to her ears.

xXx

Christine arrived on the doorstep of the Marseille Boarding House at ten o'clock the following morning, having been safely deposited by Raoul's coachman. The ride back into the city had been an easy one, only about an hour and a half. She was to stay one night with the Girys before Raoul would collect her the next day. He had claimed business in the city in need of his attention, but had still allowed her this one day on her own.

She quickly secured herself a room for the evening and inquired with Madame Marseille on the current whereabouts of the Girys. Christine was informed that Madame Giry was interviewing at a local theater, but that Mademoiselle Giry had been _lazing about in her room all morning_. Christine stifled a laugh, knowing that Meg had hardly ever been permitted such things at the Populaire under her mother's strict rehearsal schedule. A dull ache centered again in her chest at the memories.

_Thank God Meg and Madame were not injured in the fire._

Raoul had been quick to obtain news on the ladies from Messieurs Andre and Firmin in order to ease Christine's distress, and he had sent word back ensuring their own safety. Now Christine felt suddenly impatient to see Meg again, and she asked Madame Marseille which room belonged to her friend.

The older woman showed Christine upstairs, pointing her to the room she had let for the night, and then to the doors of the Girys' rooms. Christine dropped her bag, and quickly stopped outside Meg's room, hoping that her friend was indeed inside. She knocked once, and for a moment she heard not a peep from within. Then she knocked again, louder, this time hearing movement. The knob turned and the door suddenly swung in as Meg's slightly irritated voice mumbled, "Honestly, Madame…I asked that you not…" The words died off instantly and Meg's blue eyes widened in shock. "Christine! My God, Christine!"

Christine found herself at once engulfed in Meg's ferocious embrace. She hugged her friend back with equal fervor, happily laughing through her tears. "Oh, Meg…I have missed you so."

Meg drew back, her smile radiant. "And I you. I was so worried for you, Christine. Even when Monsieur Firmin gave us word that you and le Vicomte had escaped, I…I wished desperately to see you for myself."

Christine closed her eyes. "I wished to see you too, Meg. I do not know what I would have done had you and Madame not made it out of the Opera House that night."

Meg colored slightly, recalling how close she had come to just such a fate. "Come in here, Christine. Tell me everything."

Christine allowed herself to be dragged inside the room and settled into a chair. Drawing a deep breath, she told Meg everything, well, nearly everything, about that fateful night and the flight from Paris. Christine had only left out the details of her own lingering feelings for the phantom.

But Meg, never one to still her curiosity, had asked the inevitable question. "Christine…that performance…was it…all just an act? You seemed so…"

Christine looked away in shame. "I fear his affect on me was all too real."

Meg nodded slowly, sensing this subject was a painful one. "But he is gone now Christine, and you are engaged to le Vicomte."

Christine smiled a little. "Yes, dear Raoul." Then a strange desperation reflected in her dark eyes. "Meg…is he really gone, do you think? Raoul has told me as much, but…they have not found him."

Meg clasped Christine's hand, wishing to offer some reassurance, but truly unable to do so. She herself believed the Phantom to still be very much alive beneath the Opera House. Instead of false comfort, Meg merely recounted the facts. "There has been no trace of him, Christine. The mob destroyed all that was under the Opera…what wasn't stolen that is. They burned out some of the tunnels, and the police searched every inch that remained. I'm afraid there were some…unfortunate accidents down there amidst the horrible booby traps the Phantom had set."

Christine gasped. "Oh, no, Meg!"

"I am certain le Vicomte must have told you…there has been some speculation that the phantom might have been injured and fallen into the canal that runs into the river. No one can be certain, of course. All of Paris is still looking in shadows for him, but the search of the catacombs has been called off."

Christine nodded slowly, and asked again with more force. "Meg…do _you _think he is gone?"

Meg glanced away, sighing heavily. "I…do not know, Christine. It seems so, but I…I thought I saw a shadow that night…a ghost, and truly, had it not been for that vision, I might still be beneath the Opera myself."

Again Christine gasped in shock. "You? Meg, you did not go down there?"

Meg met her eyes evenly. "I could not bear to leave you there. Maman bid me not to go, but the mob was forming and I knew they would never navigate the tunnels successfully. I had at least some knowledge of them, and I'd wanted to find you, and Maman. I'd run a bit ahead to reach the Phantom's lair before they did, in case…" She broke off shaking her head, her eyes moist with unshed tears. "But I found no one there. When the mob came, it was horrible. They were out for blood, and it seemed that anyone's blood would do. I…ran back the way I had come, but I must have gotten turned around somehow."

"God, Meg…you could have been killed!"

Meg swiped at her tears and laughed a little. "You know me, Christine…far too bold and full of curiosity to keep myself from mischief." Another ironic laugh escaped her. "It is a wonder I never managed to stumble across the Phantom long before that night."

At this, Christine grew tense. "The shadow you saw…it was him?"

"I…cannot be certain. I thought I heard a whisper…a sad, haunting voice calling to me. _Little Giry_, it seemed to say, and then a twinkle of light in the tunnel. I ran towards it and soon found myself stumbling out into an opening by the river. But I never actually saw anyone there."

Christine closed her eyes, a strange hope taking flight within her.

_It was him, it had to be. And he led Meg to safety. A demon would not do such a thing…only an angel._

Unconsciously, she whispered, "He lives, then."

Thinking her friend might still be concerned for her own safety, Meg sought again to ease her distress. "Perhaps it was only a ghost, Christine. I saw no solid form that night, only…"

Meg paused, considering the wisdom of revealing to Christine what she had discovered. Sighing, she stood and moved to her dresser, opening a drawer and reaching beneath the linens within to retrieve a small bundle wrapped in cloth. She sat back down across form Christine and began to unwrap the material as she spoke again. "Only this."

Christine's haunted eyes filled with tears, and she reached one trembling hand towards the object in Meg's hands, tracing her fingers over the cool porcelain. _His mask!_ She picked it up carefully, cradling it as if it were a precious treasure. "Oh, Meg…may I…may I keep this?"

Meg looked at Christine oddly, wondering why she would want such a reminder, but then her eyes softened in understanding as she remembered that the Phantom had also been her friend's once beloved Angel of Music. "Of course you may, Christine."

Still looking lovingly at the mask, Christine whispered, "Thank you."

She refused to think what it must mean that her angel had left his mask behind.

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**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews. 


	4. In Darkness

**In Darkness**

Meg Giry had always possessed quite a talent for easy humor, and indeed, had always used it to balance the more serious moments of life. Such a small rebellion must be expected of a woman raised in the rather strict style of Madame Antoinette Giry. Meg and Christine had often engaged in mischievous endeavors as children roaming the halls of the Opera Populaire, so it was not a great challenge now for Meg to turn their reunion to more joyful subjects than the infamous Opera Ghost.

Christine somehow managed to smile at all the proper moments and say all the right words as Meg asked about le Vicomte, the countryside, the fine de Chagny estate, and romance of it all. All the while her fingers played with the mask she still held clutched in her hands. It was not until Meg heard her mother in the hallway that Christine had been forced to part with the memento, at least for awhile. Meg had guiltily confessed that her mother knew nothing of the mask, feeling that the story of how Meg had come by it best left untold. It was only one small secret to keep, compared to the secrets that Madame Giry had kept for so very long.

Christine had reluctantly allowed Meg to tuck the mask away again, and the reunion had soon been extended to include Madame. It was a day to celebrate indeed, as Madame had only just been employed at the Theatre Soliel as a ballet mistress, and Meg was to have an audition on Friday morning.

"So you shall have to make some effort, Meg, rather than waste the day lounging about."

Meg had grinned cheekily and replied, "But look what I've benefited by lounging about today…a wonderful surprise on my doorstep."

The three women had shared in a laugh before Madame and Meg began to answer Christine's questions about the fate of the Opera Populaire. Christine, in turn, had spoken a little more about her days in the country, but the one subject Christine longed to broach with Madame Giry was the very one she could not seem to bring about.

Raoul had told Christine a little of the story Madame had relayed regarding the Phantom's past, and only then did Christine come to fully realize just how involved in the events her guardian had been. The knowledge had greatly upset her; that Madame would have allowed such things to occur, but Christine had soon realized that she herself had been the one to set it all into motion. She had known of the Opera Ghost, known the stories…and Madame had always warned her to do as her tutor said, but to always be wary of angering him. Christine had been the one to stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that her angel and the Phantom were one in the same. Now, Madame Giry held information that Christine was desperately in need of, and she determined that she would somehow secure it.

In fact, it was Madame Giry herself who had given Christine the opportunity, bidding Meg to go and get them their afternoon tea and sandwiches. Meg had nodded in understanding, knowing her mother had something she wished to speak to Christine about in private, and though her own curiosity was raging, she had left them both alone for a time.

Madame Giry studied Christine thoughtfully a moment before beginning. "Christine, I truly had not expected you to return to Paris. I am surprised le Vicomte would allow it."

Christine bristled. "Is there some reason I should not have returned? You are all telling me that there is no longer any danger here…that the Phantom is gone. Is that not true?"

Antoinette Giry did not miss the catch in Christine's voice that betrayed a hopefulness that the girl certainly should _not_ be feeling. She raised an eyebrow and said simply, "The Phantom is no more, child."

Christine shivered slightly at the coldness of Madame's words and a sick feeling of dread curled in her belly. "But you cannot know that for certain…"

Madame Giry looked at Christine crossly. "I know it." Then she shook her head sadly. "You have nothing to fear from him any longer, Christine…this I can promise you."

Christine began to tremble slightly. "I do not fear him, Madame. I…only wish…to know…if…he lives."

The older woman sighed. "Erik let you go, Christine…now _you_ must let go."

Christine's tearful eyes snapped up quickly. "Erik?"

Madame Giry frowned. "Your angel was only a man, with a man's name…but he could never have a man's life. He lost himself to the darkness, and in darkness he remains. You are free of that now, Christine. Mourn him if you must, but do not take his chains upon yourself."

Christine dissolved into tears again, and Madame stroked a gentle hand over her hair. After the girl had calmed herself some, Madame quietly excused herself to see what was keeping Meg, and Christine was left to the agony of her angel finally made flesh.

_Erik._

xXx

The hour was still early when Christine retired for the evening, claiming exhaustion. The sun was still above the horizon and Paris was awash in a golden glow. Madame Giry and Meg had promised to stroll with Christine tomorrow morning past the Opera House so that she might see the damage done to it, and Christine had mutely nodded her assent. Yet she could not wait until dawn. The ache in her soul had grown stronger with her return to the city, and every reassurance she had heard only served to make her more aware of her angel's presence.

_No, Erik. His name is Erik._

Christine was more certain than before that Erik still lived. Meg's story and Madame's carefully chosen words had only made Christine more determined to see this through. She had never shed the chains that Erik had placed upon her so long ago, and those chains pulled her back to him now. She knew what she must do…and there could be no witnesses to this confrontation.

She was a foolish creature, she knew, for stealing away from the boarding house and strolling the Paris streets alone. Even more foolish was her destination, but somehow she knew that if she was to find him again, it must be in the place where this had all begun. Either he would come or he would not, and she prayed that it would finally be settled, one way or another.

Even as Christine made her way to the Opera Populaire, he heart was still in turmoil, clinging to the safety of Raoul's love. She could not fully confess, even to herself, what meaning her actions held. It was her soul that led her…seeking completion…seeking passion. _Seeking him._

The exterior of the building was surprisingly intact, though remnants of the fire remained in the scorch marks upon the stone work. She glanced nervously around to see if anyone had noticed her, but it seemed no one cared much who came and went from the building this evening. Still, she did not enter right away, but instead made her way carefully around the exterior in search of the service entrance she knew existed there…the one that entered the building very close to her dressing room.

Christine found the door unlocked, though it stuck at the frame from warping…undoubtedly a result of the water damage. She shoved against it with all her weight, and it took several tries before it finally gave. The stench of smoke still lingered inside, and Christine gagged slightly as the stale air assaulted her nostrils.

Here the ravishment of the fire was more apparent, and she hesitated at entering the building, but she had not come all this way to back down now. She refused to revert to that same timid little mouse who had scampered away in fear. She crept through the building, watching every step she took, until finally she stood at the door of her dressing room. She was tempted to move to the stage, to see what damage had been done there, but she didn't think she could bear to see it just now.

Christine entered her dressing room tentatively, and gasped. Somehow, the room had remained untouched. She stood there before the mirror for what felt like hours, but in fact were only moments.

Softly, she sang, _"Angel of Music, I denied you, turning from true beauty…Angel of Music, my protector, come to me strange angel…" _

Her words choked off on a tormented sob, and only silence greeted her. She moved closer to the mirror, running one trembling hand over the cold glass. Slowly, she lifted the other and ran it along the edge, searching blindly for the latch she knew must be there. After a moment, she found it…whether by some trick of fate or soul deep knowledge she would never be certain…but the mirror swung open and she began her journey down once more.

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**A/N: **I know...another Erik-less chapter...but can't you just feel it coming? 

Thanks again to my reviewers.


	5. In Shadow

**In Shadow**

_Christine was back._

The knowledge burned through Erik like acid; hot and painful and impossible to ignore. He had felt her presence the moment she had entered his Opera House, and for the first time in two weeks, his heart had begun to beat again. It was a fractured rhythm full of torment and anguish, but the power of it had reawakened him from the numb nothingness that had swirled around him since_ she_ had left.

He heard the wretched child call out to her angel again. Heard and ignored…waiting for her to go, to leave him once again.

_Where is the blasted boy?_

Her lover…her love…her…husband?

_Damn her!_

Did she not understand that he was weak…to tempt him this way once again?

_Pitiful creature of darkness._

Letting Christine go had destroyed him, ripped away his very soul. So easily, he could have kept her here…held her to the impossible choice he had forced her to make, but there would have been no happiness in keeping her. Christine was a delicate creature, beautiful and pure, and he had nearly ruined her in his madness.

_Oh, but her kiss..._

It had all been her ploy to save her lover, of course, and Erik had known it. But in that one action, Christine had awoken the humanity buried deep within him. She had touched him with compassion, with tenderness…touched him as a man. He could not have damned her to the darkness in which he existed after such a thing. So he had given her the only thing he ever could…her freedom, certain in the knowledge that she would be safe and happy.

_And she left you to die at the hands of the mob._

He very nearly had done just that. Oh, it had been easy enough to evade them, as he had secret chambers that would never be found by simple minded men. Yet Erik had been tempted to simply allow himself be found…allow the mob to burn away his pain, his love for the woman who would not have him. Indeed, it had only been the presence of Little Giry running blindly though his labyrinth that kept him from his suicidal decision. He'd nearly left her to whatever fate she would find, knowing very well that her mother had been the one to lead Christine's boy down, but something he could not fully explain had urged him to help the girl. Some little tickle of conscious that Christine's kiss had awakened. A small act really, hardly a kindness, but enough to alter his course that night. It had afforded him time to rediscover his survival instinct, though death might have been a kinder fate for him in the end.

_Death would release me from her._

Erik felt a trace of madness creeping over him once again, as his love for Christine warred against his anger towards her. He would have left her be, but she had come back here to continue tormenting him. Even now, he could remember the feel of her in his arms, the passionate response of her body to his touch. His innocent Christine had craved his flesh just as he had craved hers, though she had not wished it to be so.

_And now she has returned to me._

The darkness within him compelled him to seek her out…to shadow his angel once again.

xXx

Christine descended to the cellars beneath the Opera in slow measured steps, ever careful of the dangers that could be lurking. She felt his presence here so strongly, but not a shadow moved save her own. She found the boat on the shore of the lake, just where she and Raoul had left it. Although she realized that it was foolish to think that the police had not disturbed it many times in their search. Indeed, looking around on the ground she noticed several lanterns and torches that had not been there before.

She carefully stepped onto the boat, raising the pole to push herself away. The journey was awkward, as she was not accustomed to such work and struggled to keep the boat headed in the direction she desired, but she soon touched down on the opposite shore. Wading though the water at the edge of the lake, Christine tugged at the boat in an attempt to secure it. Turning from her task, she stepped further into the chamber and gasped in horror; her tears falling freely once again.

Christine had not been entirely prepared to see the destruction wrought by the mob. The once magnificent organ now stood smashed and splintering, the pipes fallen to the ground. The bed where Erik had once laid her so gently was stripped of its silk and singed by flame. Christine could not contain the helpless little cry of despair that passed her lips. She sank to her knees and began sobbing.

_I have been the cause of this all._

"Where are you, dark angel?" Christine's voice trembled as she spoke. "You cannot be dead. I would feel it if you were. My angel..."

Long moments passed with only the sound of Christine's shuddering breaths. "Oh, angel..."

"I am no one's angel, Christine."

Christine jumped at the soft echo and scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering in her chest. She turned towards the voice only to see empty darkness.

_He is alive! He is here!_

Her voice trembled with unveiled longing when she called to him again. "Where are you? Do not hide from me now."

"Why have you come here?" His angry voice echoed in the darkness. Christine turned again, trying to find him.

"I have come for you...Erik."

Silence lingered, and then she heard his hoarse whisper. "How do you know of that name?"

Christine's reply was quiet. "Madame Giry."

His bitter words echoed through the cavern. "She should learn to better keep my secrets!"

Christine flinched at his tone, drawing a shaky breath. "I…I must see you, Erik."

Again the voice from the shadows was pained, hoarse and broken. "Please...do not say that name. There is no Erik, only this wretched demon."

Her hands fisted at her sides, her voice rising in anger. "You are not a demon! Do not speak of yourself in such a way."

Rich laughter suddenly bellowed through the chamber, his mood shifting like lightning. "Come now, Christine! Don't tell me you've come to lavish me with your pity. Or do you wish to save me? Am I to be the new Vicomtess's first charity case?"

Christine hung her head, quietly replying. "I do not pity you. And I am not yet a Vicomtess."

"Why, Christine, it's been two whole weeks? I would have thought you and your lover would have rushed straight to a priest." His hard words suddenly took on a softer tone. "You need not worry. The Phantom is dead. Now go, Christine."

Christine grew frustrated. "I will not leave you again. Not until I tell you what I must. Please...let me see you."

For a moment Christine thought that he had left her, but then she caught sight of a shadow in the far corner, and a cloaked form came into view. "You see me, Christine. Now say what you must and go."

Christine drank in the sight of him, though she could not clearly see his face. There was only a hint of his strong jaw showing beneath the hood of his cloak. He remained immobile, waiting for her to have her say, and suddenly Christine felt her voice falter. Tears spilled over her pale cheeks as she searched for where to begin. "I…I am so sorry, Erik. I…I wish I could…undo this all."

Throwing his arms out, he bellowed, "_Sorry!_ You are _sorry!_ _This_ is why you have crawled back into Hell? To torment me with more of your meaningless tears."

"No, Erik! I came because I could not stay away. You said you would let me go, but you have not!"

_"I...?" _He tossed his hood back suddenly, his face contorted in anger. "_I_ did not tempt you back here, Christine! It is _you_ who will not let _me_ rest in peace." Erik angrily turned his back to her. "Now go! I do not want you back again!"

Christine shivered at his words, her very soul rejecting them.

_It cannot it be true. Have I burned away all his love for me?_

But the sight of him, alive and so very close to her, had her taking a hesitant step towards him. "You…told me that you loved me."

His powerful form seemed to crumble before her, his shoulders sagging in defeat and his head bowing. "Oh Christine, why? Why are you here?"

She reached out one trembling hand to touch his back, and the words she had so viciously denied for so long came bubbling up.

"Because I…I love you."

* * *

**A/N:** Bad Author…leaving it there! There will be more Erik-ness to come. I'm not sure how well I do with his character…getting in his head is rather difficult. I'm much more comfortable writing Christine for some strange reason. 

Reviews are always most appreciated. Thanks.


	6. In Truth

**In Truth**

I love you.

Christine's softly uttered declaration seemed to resonate through the cavern. A flash of overwhelming joy raced through Erik's blood, only to be quickly chased away by anger…denial…betrayal. He spun violently, the action taking Christine off guard and sending her stumbling back several steps.

"You lie! What trick is this? Do you mean to finish me off now? Is your _boy _hiding in some corner waiting to run me through?"

"No!" Christine threw herself against him in anguish, gripping the edges of his cloak together tightly. The words that spilled forth from her lips were born from a truth she had dared not admit until that moment. "_I_ have been hiding, refusing to face the truth. But I can no longer deny my heart...my soul, Erik. I cannot be without you, I am _dying_ without you!"

The simple brush of his body against hers, the feel of his hands as he grasped her shoulders to still her, caused a reaction within her unlike any other. Without conscious thought, she reached up and drew his head down, her mouth finding his in desperation. For an unending moment, Erik stood passive before her, resisting Christine's passionate advance. Just as she began to think him completely unmoved, his hands pulled her body closer and he returned the ardor of her kiss.

It felt like Heaven...like Hell. It was too much and never enough.

Christine struggled to get closer, just as she had in the countless dreams that had taunted her since the night she had left Erik behind. The passion that stirred within her now was unmistakable…undeniable.

This was what we were meant for. This was what I could never find with Raoul.

As if Erik somehow read her thoughts, he abruptly broke the kiss, pushing Christine away from him. He struggled to regain his fragile control, allowing his anger to stir again and cool the fire between them. "What of your _Vicomte_? Or will you tell me you do not love him?"

Christine drew an uneven breath, closing her eyes in guilt. It would do no good to lie to him, so she whispered, "I will not tell you that, Erik, but know that my love for him is not...like this."

He glowered over her…her words twisting the knife deeper into his heart once again. His beautiful voice turned even colder. "And what _is_ this, Christine? Some new childish game of yours? You _love _him, yet you _want_ me? You cannot have us both!"

She stared at him with wide, anguished eyes. "Do you think me a fool, Erik? I am here because I _choose_ you! I _love _you."

Those words again.

Oh, how they threatened to erase all the bitterness within him. Even now, he could feel hope blossoming in his chest, fragile and so easily crushed. He shook his head in denial, stubbornly ignoring the truth in Christine's steady gaze. "You cannot love a _monster_...an _evil thing_."

She reached for him and tenderly drew his face into her hands with darkening eyes. Her words were spoken with quiet determination. "You are _not _a monster, Erik, and I do not believe you are evil. I have felt the good in you. Seen the beauty."

He scoffed, "Then you are blind."

Christine dropped her hands, shaking her head sadly. "No, I can finally see, Erik. I see the man that you can be." Her voice softened as she thought of every little moment that had proved him a man, before her fear of him had truly blinded her. "And it is the man I cannot forget, nor turn away from. Please...do not ask me to again."

Erik closed his eyes in pain. Every word she spoke was one he had conjured up in countless fantasies. He could not believe this time might be real.

It is not real, you fool. Nothing has changed. You still cannot keep her with you.

"What sacrifices are you willing to make for me, Christine? Will you give up your _Vicomte_ to haunt the shadows with a murderer?"

His question was the very one that Christine had been struggling to answer, and even in coming here, she still had not fully understood what she hoped to accomplish. Raoul was still very much in her life, and in her heart. Yet how could she leave Erik…be parted from the other half of her soul? She could not. Knowing this, the answer suddenly seemed clear.

"I only know I cannot give you up, Erik. Perhaps if we leave here, go away from Paris, where no one knows the story of the Phantom. We can simply be Erik and Christine…as we should have always been."

Erik smiled sadly, tracing his fingers across her cheek with such reverence, as though it would be the last time. His tone was suddenly soft and his words gentle. "Such a lovely dream, my angel, but only a dream nonetheless…and you should have your dreams. I cannot ask you live a nightmare._ This_, at least, I finally understand."

He turned from her once again and began to move back into the shadows, and Christine suddenly felt her heart begin to flutter madly in panic. She could not let him go. She had come here in search of something she'd not been able to fully define, but now…faced with losing him once again, she knew. She stopped him with the words of his own creation.

"You have brought me to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence . . ."

Erik paused with his back to Christine, stopped by the sound of her sweet voice growing steadily more passionate.

"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why . . .  
In my mind, I've already imagined  
our bodies entwining defenseless and silent -  
and now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts, I've decided, decided."

Erik drew in a ragged breath as he turned towards her once again, knowing he was helpless to resist her. She was calling to him with the very music he had created for her, and he answered, his voice becoming one with hers.

****

"Past the point of no return no going back now:  
our passion-play has now, at last, begun . . .  
Past all thought of right or wrong -  
one final question: how long  
should we two wait, before we're one . . .?"

"What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us . . .?"

"Past the point of no return the final threshold,  
the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn.  
We're past the point of no return."

They had moved closer to one another with every word, and now their lips were but inches apart. Erik closed his eyes briefly, fighting one last battle with himself. He had tried to release her…tried to forget her…but the insufferable girl had come back here on her own. He was simply not strong enough to resist what he had craved for so very long. On a frustrated groan, he pressed his mouth to Christine's as passion ignited once again, consuming them both...all thought of right and wrong lost to the flames of desire.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks again to those who reviewed. More fluffiness to come. 


	7. In Passion

**A/N: **Herein earns the _**M**_ Rating.

**

* * *

In Passion **

The kiss was a tempest…and Christine a temptress. This woman who had trembled in fear of the Phantom now trembled in passion, her body pressed against Erik's so closely that it seemed she was a part of him. Of course she was a part of him, had not she always been such?

She was his soul.

His hands traveled possessively along the curve her spine, pressing at the small of her back and pulling her hips closer still. Christine shuddered at the contact, feeling the unmistakable proof of Erik's desire. It frightened her a little, more so in the fact that it didn't frighten her nearly enough. The feelings spiraling through her burned away her fear and she longed for more.

Her hands found their way under his cloak and fisted against the material of his loose fitting shirt. The heat of Erik's body seeped into her blood, and she shifted against him, seeking to increase the sensation blossoming deep in her belly.

A groan escaped from deep in his chest as he set her away. "Christine! We must stop this…before we cannot."

Christine tried to focus through the haze of sensual pleasure as she looked into Erik's tortured blue -green eyes. _Stop? _The word seemed suddenly foreign to her. Her mind screamed at her to listen to him. Oh, but her body…her heart…her _very soul_ begged for something entirely different, and it was that which her voice chose to obey.

"I do not wish to stop, Erik."

He recoiled from her in shock, dangerously close to letting his demon loose to take her. "Do you even know what you are saying? Such an act can never be undone, Christine."

Christine studied his face, one side so beautiful, the other side ravaged...condemning him to a life she could not even begin to comprehend. She lifted her hand to his marred cheek, gently tracing her fingers over the ridges of skin. Perhaps if it was merely desire she felt for him, fear would once again send her running from this moment, but the past weeks had taught her what longing truly was, and her soul ached for completion now. She met Erik's eyes with determination. "I know. I give myself to you freely."

His eyes sparked, hot and dangerous again, and Christine caught her breath. His mouth was over hers in a heartbeat, and he pulled her back into her arms once again. A tremor raced through her at the certainty that Erik would finally take complete possession.

And she wanted him to.

Erik lifted Christine against him, carrying her towards the bed. Heedless of the missing bedclothes, Erik sat her down upon the edge of the mattress, kneeling in front of her. His hands trembled as he reached up to caress the curls of her hair and he studied her carefully, his face awash with desire. He whispered raggedly, "Are you certain?"

Christine drew a nervous breath, leaning down towards him so she could whisper her answer against his lips. "Yes, Erik." Then she kissed him again, tracing her curious hands over his broad chest and feeling the muscles contract under her touch.

A shudder racked his body, and he stood suddenly, gripping Christine at her elbows and pulling her up with him. His lips left hers only to begin a slow journey over her cheek, across her jaw and to her throat. Christine's head fell back, a moan escaping her, and she felt him smile against her skin.

Suddenly, she felt impatient to touch him. She tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled his head up, pressing an urgent kiss to his mouth, as her hands moved to untie his cloak. When he was free of that, she began working open the fastenings of his shirt, kissing his chin, his throat, and finally pressing her lips to his chest just over his racing heart.

"Oh, Christine…mon ange…this must be a dream…"

Christine drew back far enough to look into his eyes. "If it is, then it is a dream we have both shared."

Their eyes caught and held, intensifying the connection between them. Christine's hands slipped beneath the edges of Erik's shirt and gently slid the silk from his shoulders, leaving him bare-chested. Christine tore her eyes away from Erik's intense gaze only to travel down to the flesh she had exposed. She gasped at the sight of the pale scars that crisscrossed over his powerful form. Reaching out a trembling hand, she traced one jagged line that stretched over his shoulder to his back.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut tightly, as if by doing so she could will away all of the suffering that he had endured. "Oh, Erik..."

When her dark eyes opened again, they were glistening with moisture. She leaned forward and deliberately placed a tender kiss to the raised flesh. The action was Erik's undoing, and he reached for her again in desperation, tipping her face back up and capturing her mouth. His usually deft fingers trembled violently as he began to clumsily work open the buttons of her dress.

Christine felt a tremor of anxiety pass through her, but it was not enough to douse her desire, and her own hands moved to aid him in his task. Erik pulled back slightly and watched the color rise on Christine's already flushed face as she finished opening her dress and pulled it from her shoulders to let in pool at her feet.

She stood before him in her corset and under-things, her chest rising and falling enticingly with each heavy breath she drew, and her eyes dark with passion.

"Christine..." Her name falling in a whisper from his lips sent another jolt of sweet longing through her.

"You…you will have to unlace my corset, Erik." His beautiful eyes fell closed a moment, his very being seemingly awash in silent prayer. He drew a heavy breath, then opened his eyes and placed one kiss to her shoulder before slowly turning her away from him. Christine felt him tugging at the laces of her corset, heard his barely audible groan of frustration before the wretched garment finally gave way and fell loose to the floor.

Christine caught her breath as Erik suddenly dragged her back against him, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his mouth to her throat. Her head tipped back and to the side to grant him better access, and one arm snaked up to tangle in his hair. Her breath began to come in little gasps as his hands grew bolder, more certain, touching her as he had as the night of their performance.

As he had in her dreams.

"Erik…please…" She knew not what she begged for, only that she never wanted him to stop touching her. He spun her back around to face him, his lips catching hers again as he lifted her into his arms and laid her down upon the bed.

He paused over her, his eyes clouded with sudden doubt, but Christine reached toward him, dragging him down with her. Erik hissed out a breath, his hands shaking again as he touched her, slipping under the fabric of her chemise to caress her skin. Christine moaned and pressed herself against him.

"Oh, Christine…Christine…" He murmured her name like a mantra, slowly peeling away the last of her modesty, laying her bare. Her heart was pounding in a strange mix of desire, excitement and fear. Every sensation felt magnified as he stroked trembling hands so gently over her body. "My angel, Christine. You are so beautiful to behold."

His gentle seduction enflamed her beyond reason, and she longed to explore him as he was exploring her. Her curious fingers danced across his chest and over his belly, drifting lower until they wrested with the fabric of his trousers. His body jerked violently away from hers as he caught her hands in his. Christine turned worried eyes to his, fearing she had done something wrong. "Erik?"

He shook his head, his jaw clenched and his breathing erratic. His words were low and full of sweet agony. "It is too much, Christine. Your touch will be the end of me."

"Then touch _me, _Erik…please…"

A shudder passed over him again, and he kissed her deeply. He could no longer keep his demon in check. He tore himself away from Christine only long enough to carelessly finish the task she had started by shedding the last stitches of his clothes. He saw Christine's eyes widened, heard her tiny gasp, and felt himself teetering on the edge of madness. He wanted nothing more than to possess her.

He came back to her without restraint, kissing her again, moving over her. Her nails bit into his shoulders and her body suddenly grew tense, but she did not try to push him away, nor beg him to stop. It was this acceptance of him that stilled his actions again, and he lifted his tormented eyes to wordlessly seek her consent once again.

At his unspoken question, Christine felt her fear drain away. Her body craved to be one with him, as her soul already was. She wound her arms around his shoulders and opened herself to him, whispering, "I want you with me, Erik...within me." Strange, such words did not shame her, but the need he had aroused in her would not be silent. She had come here tonight for this…to finally be complete.

Erik's eyes darkened at her request, his entire body trembling now with need. "Oh, Christine. I am yours." And then the last barrier between them was removed. Christine felt the brief stab of pain and she cried out. Erik shuddered against her, his voice breaking on a sob. "Forgive me, mon ange…forgive me…"

He began to pull away from her, but Christine held him fast, the moment of pain was quickly replaced with a feeling of fullness so exquisite she could not bear to lose it. She whispered to him the words of her countless dreams. "Don't leave me, angel."

Erik was helpless to resist her, and he thrust forward, joining their bodies more deeply. Christine gasped in pleasure, pulling him closer. They moved together in wondrous discovery, losing themselves to the sweet music of their passion until they were far past the point of no return.

And they found a heaven of their own making.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay...I tried to keep this chapter away from the smuttier end of the spectrum. Erik is still too tormented to be a perfect gentleman, and Christine is just thinking in the moment at this point. (Sexy Phantom dreams will do that to a girl.) They are both very much in the _want…take…have_ frame of mind. (Yes, I used to watch to much _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.) Hope I didn't disappoint too badly. 


	8. In Waking

In Waking

Christine drifted to consciousness slowly, awaking from a deep dreamless sleep. She was only vaguely aware of a chill spreading over her flesh, and she shivered. The memories of the previous night flooded her mind and a soft smile curved her lips. Her eyes slowly drifted open as she reached for Erik, but her hand encountered only emptiness. Her heart suddenly tripped and her eyes sharpened into focus at the realization that she was alone in the bed.

No, not a bed…the settee in her dressing room!

She sat up quickly, her eyes frantically roaming the empty room.

Oh, God…oh, God…another dream…?

A wounded cry of despair escaped her lips.

It had been so beautifully real.

As she dropped her feet onto the floor, she felt an unfamiliar ache in a most intimate place, and she became suddenly aware that she wore only a robe. Her breath caught as her body remembered…last night had not been a dream. Her eyes searched the room again to find her clothes neatly folded and placed upon a chair. Then she saw it…on the dresser by the mirror. A single, perfect red rose tied in a black ribbon…and a note with her name scrawled in elegant red ink.

Time stopped. No breath would pass her lips. No beat would move her shattered heart. For she knew even before she stood and reached for the parchment with a trembling hand, what it would say.

Erik was gone.

xXx

Erik collapsed against a cold, stone wall, deep into the tunnels. His body shook with pain and rage. Pain at having once again been forced to sacrifice what he wanted most in the world. Rage at himself for the crime he had committed against his angel.

I have ruined her.

What madness brought her back to this place?

The same madness you are afflicted with, Erik.

Her words of love had been such happy daggers to his cold heart. Even after all of the evil he had done in her name, the wrongs he had committed against her, her soul had drawn her back to him. He should not have answered her calls, but as he'd watched her from the shadows in helpless fascination, he had been wholly unable to ignore the pain in her voice...the tears she wept..._for him. _How could he have been expected to resist her?

But Christine had not asked him to resist, indeed, she had tempted him beyond reason. Erik had been powerless against the warmth of her lips, her body, and her love. Too long had he imagined possessing her to walk away from her passionate offering, and his Christine had not bid him to stop.

She had allowed him to lay her bare; to gaze upon every flawless inch of her exposed flesh...to touch her. And she had welcomed his touch...welcomed him. His mad dreams of love had become real and they two had become one.

My innocent angel is innocent no more.

Erik trembled now at the memory, such a night as he'd never known before, and would never know again. They'd made love and he'd held her as she had fallen into a sated sleep. Only then had reality intruded upon his perfect dream. He had remembered who and _what _he was…and all that he had done.

Murderer…phantom…fiend.

He had truly known what a monster he was to have taken his angel in such a way...when he knew they could not have a future. He could give Christine nothing but the darkness that permeated his own existence. To keep her with him would condemn her to a life of hiding in shadows, and he knew that it would not be long before the darkness would surely contaminate her. He could not bear to see her slowly lose the light that he so loved.

Damn her!

She had possessed him...captivated him and obsessed him. Erik could never trust himself to be near her for fear of what he might do…what he had already done. He had killed in her name. Christine could never be happy living a life of fear and uncertainty, always glancing over shoulders and peering behind corners, waiting to be discovered. And he would be waiting, as well…waiting for her _precious Vicomte _to come and take her away again. Waiting for her to wake up and look at him again in horror…run from him in fear...betray him once again. His jealousy and anger would destroy them both.

So Erik had torn himself away from her arms, gathered her clothes together and gone searching the remains of his home for a way to ensure that he could return Christine above without a struggle. The potion had been quite minimal…a few herbs spread over her lips to keep her in a deep sleep. Taking her back had been simple, really, but letting her go…writing the words to sever their ties…the words that had ripped away what little was left of his soul…that had been nearly impossible.

Christine would surely hate him for forcing her freedom on her now, but in time she would come to understand. She would return to _the boy _and he would give her everything that Erik never could. She would be happy again…and this would all be but a dream.

xXx

It was Meg Giry who first made the discovery of Christine's absence from the Marseille Boarding House. She sought out her friend at an early hour, thinking certainly she must be awake. Her soft knock had gone unanswered, and Meg reached down to try the doorknob. She opened it carefully, feeling a strange dread building within her, and saw an empty chamber and Christine's bag sitting atop the untouched bed. Fear assaulted her, and she raced to alert her mother. She knocked hastily upon her mother's door, even as she turned the knob.

"Maman!"

Madame Giry was still pinning her hair when her daughter rushed in on her. "Meg, child, whatever is the matter?"

"It is Christine, Maman! She is not in her room…he has taken her again, I know it."

Antoinette shook her head in vehement denial, but her eyes clearly reflected uncertainty. "Calm down, child. He would not have done such a thing. He…is a broken creature now."

Meg's eyes widened. "You have seen him again!"

Ever since she had been a young child growing up in the Opera House, Meg had known her mother had more to do with the Opera Ghost than she would ever admit to. Yet all of Meg's curious questions had been met with stony resistance and the reprimand that they must not speak _of him. _Only after the fire had Madame Giry broken down and confessed to her daughter some of the part she had played in the tragedy.

Meg had felt a surge of annoyance at having been kept in the dark for so long, but she understood that all her mother's actions had been done in a strange mix of concern and fear…for the Phantom…for Christine. Now another tingle of anger spread through her at the realization that her mother had secretly seen _him_ again after that horrible night…and not warned Christine of the danger she was in.

Guilt turned her mother's gaze away a moment. "I have seen him only once." Antoinette leveled her gaze back on her daughter. "I…do not believe Christine is in any danger from him."

Meg's eyes flashed. "But she is gone, Maman! And I do not think she slept here last night. If the Phantom hasn't taken her again, then where is she?"

Her mother shot a stern look to her. "Hush, child! Keep your voice down." Then she sighed, speaking more to herself than to Meg. "She is just foolish enough to have sought him out on her own."

Meg started, her mind denying the possibility, even as her heart told her it was likely true. "No! How could she have?"

Antoinette shook her head slightly. "Perhaps we are worried for nothing, Meg. Christine may only be out walking at an early hour. We must not panic until we can be certain."

"But how...?" Just then, there was a knock at Madame Giry's door, startling both women. Meg gasped, her eyes growing suddenly hopeful. "Christine?"

Antoinette moved cautiously to the door, opening to reveal Madame Marseille. "Madame Giry, there is a gentleman here to call on Mademoiselle Daae. Might she be visiting with you?"

"She is…gone for a morning walk. Pray, tell me what gentleman is calling." Though Antoinette knew with a sinking feeling of despair what the answer would be.

Madame Marseille grinned rather proudly. "Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny."

Meg gasped from behind her mother, and Antoinette quickly thanked Madame Marseille and told her she would be down shortly to speak with the Vicomte.

"My God, Maman! We must tell him."

"No! He and Erik would surely kill one another this time."

Meg's blue eyes clouded in confusion. "Erik?" Then the light of understanding dawned. "Maman, who is it you are most trying to protect in this?"

Antoinette gave her daughter a harsh look. "At this moment, child, I seek to protect Christine. We must not alert le Vicomte to the situation until it is absolutely necessary. I will look for Christine myself."

"And if you…cannot find her?"

"Then God help us all."

xXx

Christine had been crying for hours, and now it felt as if she had no tears left at all. _Erik had left her. He _had left _Her! _How wonderfully ironic, after all the months she had spent running away from him, that when she finally returned he would cast her out. The note he had written her was crumpled in her fist. It spoke of impossibility…spoke of his sorrow, his wish for her happiness, and his love.

His love, suddenly so selfless!

He had left her so that she might be free from the darkness he would drag her into if he tried to keep her with him, as if she was not already drowning in darkness.

She had raged at him, screamed her precious voice raw for him to come back. Tugged in vain at the clasp behind the mirror...locked, or jammed, she knew not which, only that Erik had somehow barred her return. She had nearly thrown a vase through the damned contraption, stopped only by the agonizing realization that he still would not come.

He no longer wants you, Christine.

And why should he now, when she had given him all that he'd craved in one foolish night of passion. _A beautiful dream, _he had written. A nightmare for her now…to have known such overwhelming splendor and then be deprived of it.

Oh, God, what have I done?

She dressed in a daze, leaving only her corset abandoned on the chair. She stumbled slowly through the Paris streets, certain that anyone who might look upon her would see her shame. For a few blissful hours, Christine had forgotten the outside world and all of the reasons why she and Erik could never be together. Every word he had written had been truth, and now another truth was forced back upon her. For as she entered the foyer, she was met with strong arms and concerned blue eyes of the man she had just betrayed.

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** Thanks for reading.


	9. In Reason

In Reason

Raoul de Chagny had arrived in Paris with a wariness he could not disguise. For the entirety of Christine's absence, short though it had been, he had felt a persistent uneasiness far beyond any he had known before. Allowing her the journey alone had been against his better judgment, but he had relented to please her. It was clear to him that Christine had needed to say goodbye to her previous life before she could fully embrace her future with him. A future he was growing increasingly impatient to begin.

He had told himself over and over that all would be well. The Phantom had let them go and faded back into the shadows, quite possibly himself finally claimed by the shadow of death. Yet finding Christine gone this morning had brought Raoul's anxiety back full force, and his fear had not eased until the moment she walked through the door.

Sighing in relief, Raoul enveloped his fiancée lovingly in his embrace, his racing heart finally beginning to calm. "Christine, my love, where have you been? I have been so worried for you."

Christine trembled slightly, her dark eyes widening and her face heating. "Raoul? I was...walking. I did not expect you to come with the carriage so early."

He set her back from him with concerned eyes. "Early? It is nearly afternoon, Christine. Neither Madame nor Mademoiselle Giry knew for certain where to find you. I had feared..." A shadow crossed his handsome face before he shook his head and smiled. "Ah, but you are here, and our life together can begin anew."

Unbidden tears came to Christine's eyes, and she gave into the urge to seek support from his steady frame.

Her fiancée! The man she had sworn herself to. The man she had betrayed.

May God forgive me, for I shall never forgive myself.

Raoul held her lovingly, blissfully unaware of the turmoil in Christine's heart and mind. He loosened his arms only enough to smile tenderly at her. "Why don't you collect your belongings, Christine? I am eager for us to return home."

_Home?_ Christine no longer had a home. How could she return with Raoul as if nothing had changed, when everything had?

Yet is this not what Erik wanted for you, Christine? He has sent you into Raoul's arms twice.

She drew a shaky breath and forced a wan smile. "Of course. I...I will only be a few moments."

Making her way slowly up the stairs, Christine felt herself trembling still. She took a deep breath, trying to will away the memory of Erik's touch, his kiss, her own wanton behavior. Before she could reach her room, Meg Giry emerged from her own, having heard Christine in the hall. She rushed to her friend and ushered them both into Christine's room, closing the door and turning the lock.

Meg's wide blue eyes were filled with concern. "Christine, what has happened? Where _were_ you last night?"

Christine winced. "I...I am alright, Meg. You need not worry." The words sounded false even to her own ears.

Meg's brows furrowed, and all at once she looked as stern as her mother. "Christine, I know that you did not sleep here. I could not help but worry for you, but…Maman seemed so certain that you were safe. When le Vicomte arrived and you still had not returned...she told him that we had seen you at breakfast, but then she went to find you herself. I think she was afraid that he might collect the police and head straight to the Opera."

Christine flushed and looked away, the truth clearly visible in her expression. Meg's eyes widened with the realization that her mother's suspicions had been correct. "Oh Christine, tell me that you did not go there!"

The brunette seemed to crumple before Meg's eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands, confessing brokenly, "I...could not…stay away."

"My God! Why? Why would you take such a risk, after everything that you have done to be free of…?"

Christine's head shot up, her eyes wild and flashing as she cut off Meg's words. "But I am not free, Meg! I will _never_ be free. I feel as though Erik lives in my very soul. He...affects me as no other man ever has…and I know it is wrong...and impossible. After all he has done, I should have been happy to be away from him...finally free to love Raoul."

Christine grasped Meg's hands tightly, her eyes tormented and pleading for understanding. "And I _do_ love Raoul, Meg. He is dear and sweet and noble...and exactly the man that I have always wished would love me." Christine drew a ragged breath as her eyes fell closed and her voice dropped to a whisper. "But my feelings for Erik will not be burned away."

"Then you _did _seek him out last night?"

Christine nodded tersely. "I went to the Opera House hoping he would come to me. I knew he could not be gone…not when I can still feel him." A shudder passed over Christine.

Meg noticed this, and paled. "Christine, has he...hurt you?"

Christine laughed without humor. "No, Meg. Not in the way that you mean. The hurt he inflicted was in his rejection of me. I told him of my feelings, that I could not bear to leave him again. I...gave myself to him completely...only to find him gone when I woke."

"Gave yourself...Christine? You cannot mean that you...?" Meg found she could not bring herself to complete the question, the very idea of such a thing so beyond her comprehension at that moment.

Tears fell freely from Christine's eyes. "I naively let myself believe that my love would be enough...that we could find a way to remain together. Even now I would cling to that hope if Erik would only allow me, but he has torn it all away with one of his damnable notes." Christine pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from inside her bodice and handed it to Meg; who was still struggling to take in the full meaning of her friend's words.

Meg read the note in silence, the words pulling at her heart and mind as she realized that Erik had set Christine free….asked her forgiveness and wished her happiness.

Perhaps he truly does love her.

Meg lifted her gaze once again to Christine. "What will you do now?"

Christine shook her head sadly. "What _can_ I do? Raoul wishes me to return with him to the country, but how can I after what I have done? Oh, Meg, he does not deserve such betrayal."

"Still...you do love le Vicomte, do you not?"

"So very dearly, but my love for him is not the same as..."

Meg cut her friend's words short. "Erik has set you free, Christine. Perhaps you should allow yourself that freedom."

Christine gaped at her friend. "Do you mean to tell me that I should return to Raoul as if nothing has happened?"

_Dear Christine,_ Meg thought_. Why must it always be either Raoul or Erik who must rescue you?_

"No...I am only saying that you should not make any more hasty choices which you may later come to regret." Meg reached for her friend's hand, thinking the time had most certainly come to offer a little rescue of her own.

"Christine, your confused emotions are understandable. For so long you believed Erik to be your angel...your protector...only to find out he is just a man….and a dangerous man." Christine looked pained at the words, but Meg continued calmly. "And le Vicomte came back into your life...your childhood sweetheart...offering you his love and devotion just as so much else was changing. Is it any wonder that your feelings for the two have become so tangled?"

Christine shook her head, tears trailing down her cheeks. "But how do I untangle them, Meg?"

A very good question.

Meg could not pretend to understand the depth of Christine's emotions for the Phantom…for Erik, but it was clear that she loved the Vicomte. Meg sighed, knowing only one answer to give her friend. "With time, Christine. There is no longer any danger to you...and really no rush for you to marry. You know that you are always welcome here with us, and Maman will help you to secure a new position if you wish. Le Vicomte surely loves you well enough to permit you a long engagement while you recover from all that has occurred in these past months."

Christine smiled slightly. "When have you become so wise?"

Meg smiled back cheekily. "I have always been wise, it is only that no one has ever listened to me."

Christine wiped her tears, stealing her shoulders. "Well, I am listening, Meg, and you are right. I need time to discover myself again, and I cannot do that at Raoul's estate. I have felt so suffocated there. I only hope that he will understand."

Meg clasped Christine's hand reassuringly. "I cannot imagine why he would not. He loves you."

Christine nodded and stood, pushing open the door with determination, but as she made her way downstairs once again, she could not help the feeling that Raoul would somehow sense Erik's part in her sudden desire for time and distance.

* * *


	10. In Parting

In Parting

Antoinette Giry had spent the better part of her life looking after someone or another. As a young girl, she had felt such compassion for Erik. She had thought herself some sort of angel, saving the poor child from the cruelty of his life. Yet she had done him a terrible wrong, for while she had cared for him all those years, she had not been brave enough to bring him out into the light and risk her own dreams.

Her dreams, indeed had been grand…to be a prima ballerina. Young love and an early marriage had ended those dreams, and then there had been her little Meg to think of, but Antoinette's family had come at the sacrifice of Erik. She had left him alone in the catacombs to find his own way in the dark, without anyone to teach him humanity.

And so, Antoinette could not help but blame herself for all that had occurred at the Opera Populaire. She had hoped, for a brief time, that Erik's tender feelings towards Christine might be his salvation, but instead, the girl had been his downfall, and Antoinette had done nothing to prevent it.

Which is why she was determined that the sins of the past would not be repeated. She did not know exactly what had occurred the night of the fire…she and Erik had not spoken of it in detail on the one brief occasion she had seen him. Indeed, she had only sought him out to know whether he lived, and to discover what had become of Christine and le Vicomte. Antoinette was certain that Erik was aware of her own betrayal, but suspected that his guilt over all he had done had kept him from lashing out at her. His sorrowful state had made it quickly apparent that Christine Daae had been found by le Vicomte and taken away.

Antoinette had certainly never expected to see Christine again, but it seemed that Fate had not yet completed her wicked game. For Christine had reappeared in Paris with eyes that had reflected the same sadness that Antoinette had seen in Erik's. It would have been so easy for her to have told the younger woman everything…led her straight to Erik, but to do so would have been leading them all back into chaos, and Christine was still such a child in so many ways. Still engaged to her handsome young Vicomte. Still holding on to her Angel of Music.

The foolish girl had slipped away to invite darkness once again. Antoinette had not found a trace of Erik in the places she had known to look, save the rose in Christine's former dressing room. The discarded corset on the chair told its own story, and the picture had become all too clear in Antoinette's mind. She raced back to the Marseille House to confess all to le Vicomte, silently praying once again for forgiveness.

xXx

Christine descended the stairs with her heart aching. Images of her night with Erik played over and over in her mind, and the guilt of betraying Raoul in such a way was eating her alive. Meg had been right…Christine could not simply return to the de Chagny estate as if nothing had happened. She could not marry Raoul while she still longed for Erik. Even if Erik's damned note had urged her to do just that. She owed it to all of them to be certain of her choices this time.

"Ah, Little Lotte, have you your bag?"

Christine looked at Raoul's smiling face, and felt herself falter, but determined that she would not lose her courage, she drew a steadying breath. "Raoul, I must speak with you."

Raoul's easy going expression turned to concern at Christine's serious tone. "Of course, Christine. What is it you wish to discuss?"

"I...I must ask you to allow me to remain here in Paris a while longer."

His eyes immediately flashed with concern. "Why Christine? Has something happened? An illness perhaps. Madame or Mademoiselle?"

Christine averted her eyes slightly. "No, Raoul. No one is ill. My wish to remain here is for myself."

"My love, I am afraid I do not understand your meaning."

She drew a tremulous breath, sorrow filling her voice. "Oh, Raoul, I know you are anxious to begin our life together, but I...I am not certain that I am ready to marry you just yet."

Raoul's eyes darkened slightly. "Not ready? Christine, don't be foolish. Of course you are ready. I love you. You love me. We have been engaged for months now, and we are finally free. There is no reason to wait."

Christine shook her head sadly. "But so much has happened, Raoul. So many things that I am finding difficult to reconcile. I must ask you to be patient."

"I _have_ been patient, Christine! I have catered to your every whim. I even allowed you this trip so that you might bury your demons, but I fear it has only made them worse."

"Allowed me? Raoul, do you not see? Ever since...that night...I have felt like a bird in a gilded cage. You tell me I am free, yet I do not feel free under your watchful eye!"

Raoul was stunned. "_My...? _Christine, I do not understand this. After all we have been through...all I did to free you from that monster, you must know that I only wish to keep you safe."

"I know, Raoul, but it is because of all that we have been through that I must ask you to release me. If only for a little while."

Raoul gaped at her. "Release you? You cannot mean for me to release you from our engagement?"

Christine hesitated, not wishing to hurt him more than she needed to, yet she could not say when, or if, she would be ready to be his wife. "Oh, Raoul, I am only asking for time. I have spent so many years being sheltered, first by my father, and then by...by...my...angel. And then you, my dear, sweet Raoul. When you returned to me, I was so happy to be loved by you…to love you in return, but it all went so wrong. My love for you has somehow gotten all mixed up with my fear of the darkness in myself, and even though I am free of Er...the Phantom, I cannot be certain that my feelings for you have not been colored somehow by all that has passed. I need to find myself again, Raoul…and I need to be certain that my love for you is that which a wife should have for her husband."

Raoul had listened to her words with a growing sense of indignation, and his tone was now incredulous. "And you were not certain of this already? You promised me now and forever! How much longer am I to wait, Christine? A week...a month...a year? When will you be certain of your feelings?"

Christine dropped her gaze away from his, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "I cannot give you an answer now, Raoul."

Raoul threw his hands out helplessly. "You mean you _will_ not. Am I just to wait indefinitely then? Until you decide what it is you want! And what of what I want, Christine? I have given everything to you."

Christine laid a comforting hand upon his arm. "Please, Raoul, you must try to understand."

He flinched away from her touch. He suddenly feared he understood all too well. "No Christine! You cannot have it both ways. Either you will marry me now or you will not. I will not have it left in limbo while you mourn for _him_."

Christine gasped. She had been so careful to keep from betraying the depth of her conflicted feelings for Erik, yet somehow Raoul had sensed the truth, and she knew the time for pretense was at an end. "I...I...am...sorry, Raoul. I cannot marry you."

Raoul stiffened, hurt and angry that her choice had not been what he desired. Too long had he played by her strange rules, and he could not abide one more moment. They should have been growing closer in their time together, yet Christine seemed to pulling even further away from him.

I will not have this!

"Then this will be goodbye, Christine. I will not be seen a fool by all of Paris."

She dropped her eyes to the floor and nodded in silence. She could not hold him to her simply to make her own life easier.

After all they had been through, that she could refuse him now was unfathomable to Raoul. The sting of her rejection overwhelmed him, and the tears he battled were evident in his eyes. He cupped her face one last time, drawing her eyes back to his. "You will never find another who will love you as I do, Christine."

Still she said nothing…uttered no words to stop him. Raoul dropped his hand and shook his head in disbelief. Sorrow and confusion clouded his mind, and he silently turned away from her, at once leaving the house, the city, and Christine's life.

* * *

**A/N:** A brief word about Raoul. Childhood sweethearts rarely last into adulthood, and I always felt that Christine and Raoul were playing at being in love. She acted the damsel in distress, and he acted the noble hero. Remove the drama and you're just left with a childish game... The Raoul of my story is not evil, nor entirely a fop, just a young man who doesn't quite know what to do when Christine no longer needs to be _guarded_ and _guided_. For the moment he's walking away with a broken heart and wounded pride, but who is to say what tomorrow will bring. 


	11. In Mystery

In Mystery

Meg Giry quietly closed the door to Christine's room, sighing in frustrated sympathy for her friend. The past twenty-four hours had seemed to turn the world upside down once again, and she had just spent the last twenty minutes comforting Christine over her broken engagement.

Lord, if I ever get my hands on that fop...

Meg had been so certain that the sweet, wonderful man that Christine had spoken of with such affection would surely be a little more understanding of this…unfortunate circumstance.

He would lay down his life for her, but he cannot give her a few extra bloody months to sort herself out.

Meg sighed again, scolding herself for such thoughts. Raoul de Chagny was not to blame for Christine's current state of upset. He had only wished to begin his future with the woman he loved…his only sin had been impatient pride. Or perhaps he had suspected that his beloved fiancée had willingly returned to the Phantom of the Opera.

No, Erik...Erik... you must think of him as Erik, little Meg. He is just a man.

And Christine had confessed to being in love with him. Yet she loved her handsome Vicomte, as well. Meg could hardly comprehend such a thing. Oh, certainly she understood that it was quite possible to love two men…what she couldn't comprehend was how Christine could love Erik after the horrible things he had done. But then, Christine had always possessed a goodness, a tenderness of heart, that allowed her to forgive easily. Meg envied that at times, however, she did not envy Christine now. Her friend's heart was broken, twice over in one day.

God, what a mess this has become.

Meg, shook her head ruefully, knowing that it had always been a mess.

And you, Little Giry, have only made it worse. You should have pushed Christine back into her fiancée's arms and bid her fly away forever. But no, you had to be forward thinking and tell her to stay in Paris awhile and reflect.

If only le Vicomte had been willing to abide a short separation from his love, surely Christine would have realized that her feelings for Erik were too dark and dangerous to make her truly happy.

Or perhaps she would have come to want him even more.

A little shiver passed over Meg at the thought, her heart knowing it to be true though she feared what it would mean for Christine. She hastily made her way to the parlor to await her mother's return. Thinking once again about the strange events that had occurred recently, Meg felt the familiar melancholy creep up on her. She so missed the life she used to know only a few short months ago, dancing in the corps de ballet without a care in the world. She wondered again if she could have circumvented all that had happened if she had only done…more. Yet what could she have really done?

In the middle of Meg's speculation, Antoinette Giry arrived looking flustered, and not all like her usual stoic self. "Maman…"

Antoinette waved a hand and hurriedly cut her in on her daughter, "Meg, where is le Vicomte?"

Meg cast her eyes to the floor. "Gone, Maman. He left after speaking with Christine."

Antoinette's brows shot up in surprise, "She has returned?"

Meg nodded and proceeded to briefly inform her of the events that had occurred in her absence… omitting certain private details that Christine had confessed, of course. Likewise, Antoinette had neglected to mention her own discoveries at the Opera House which hinted at what exactly might have passed between Erik and Christine. But both mother and daughter agreed that they must endeavor to help Christine make a life for herself in any way possible.

Meaning to offer some comfort, Antoinette sought out Christine, tapping softly at the door. The girl opened it and fell immediately into the older woman's arms, weeping once again, "Oh, Madame Giry…he is gone...he has left me..."

Antoinette did not ask which man Christine referred to, nor did Christine say, but it was silently understood nonetheless. "Hush now, child, you are home again…all will be well in time."

A horrible cliché, perhaps, but there was simply nothing else to be said. Antoinette Giry certainly could not allow anymore damage to be done in the name of love.

xXx

As Christine settled into her new life in Paris, she determined that she would not crumble under the weight that rested over her heart. It seemed impossible to think of herself without Raoul at her side, or Erik watching over her, but she understood that she had hurt them both with her childish dreams. She could be no good to anyone until she finally let the dreams go and grew up.

Her endeavor to do just that was unfortunately met with a great deal of resistance. She soon became all too aware that her scandalous reputation had made her virtually unemployable in the Paris theaters. Christine Daae was forever linked with the Phantom. The rumors had been bad enough before, when his obsession with her had served to advance her career, but _Don Juan Triumphant_ had sealed her fate on the stage. She had been shameless that night, her desire for Erik obvious to anyone who had been looking. No wonder Raoul had run out of patience with her. He could not have failed to see what was so clear to everyone in the audience.

Apparently, the popular story flittering around Paris seemed to be that Christine Daae had run away with the Phantom of the Opera...her secret lover all along. Her first discovery of this tale had been at the Theatre Soliel. Thinking to get Christine back into circulation as soon as possible, and her mind distracted from her troubles, Madame Giry had dragged her along to Meg's audition at le Soliel. She had discreetly inquired with her new manager if Christine might secure an audition as well. Monsieur LeCleur, in as nice a way as possible, had declined due to the lingering possibility that the Phantom may return.

"After all, my dear Madame Giry, I am acquiring so many of the Opera's fine performers due to the tragedy...best not to tempt Fate with the hook that would certainly lure the _one_ thing from the Populaire that I have_ no_ wish to acquire."

Christine had felt the pain of that first rejection more acutely than any other. For in that moment, she had fully realized just how sheltered she had been before, and how large a shadow Erik had already cast over her life. She had also been forced to admit that he had sent her away in an attempt to remove that shadow from her. Madame Giry had insisted that one rejection meant nothing in the light of Christine's talent, and had preceded to set up interviews in every respectable theater, but Christine had received the same explanation from nearly every manager. Her voice was exquisite, but they had no wish to court trouble.

So it was with very little hope that Christine waited at the Theatre Mystere to be seen by the manager. Madame Giry, as always, had accompanied her to the application, and they were soon welcomed with a smile by Monsieur Pinot, a jovial older gentleman with very thin hair and a very thick mustache.

"Ah, Madame Giry, Mademoiselle Daae...it is a pleasure to meet you both. Although I must confess surprise at your presence here, Mademoiselle. I heard you had been spirited away by le Fantome." The good-natured twinkle in his eyes softened the sting of his words, if only a little.

Antoinette looked sternly at the man, "Surely you do not believe every story you hear, Monsieur."

He raised one bushy eyebrow and looked pointedly at Christine. "I have also heard that your engagement with le Vicomte de Chagny has been broken. Is this true?"

Christine dropped her eyes and replied softly, "It is, Monsieur."

Once again, Madame Giry spoke for Christine, "Monsieur Pinot, Mademoiselle Daae is an accomplished dancer, and her voice is unparalleled."

Pinot smiled fondly. "Oui, I had the privilege of seeing you perform at the Opera."

Christine colored, certain that she was about to be rejected once again. "I am also an adequate seamstress, Monsieur, if you are in need of one."

Monsieur Pinot's smile widened. "I could always use another seamstress, but wouldn't you prefer to be on the stage?"

Christine blushed, "Yes, of course, but I realize it may not be possible."

"Ah, I see. You cannot blame us poor thespians for our apprehension. After all, your last performance at the Opera Populaire quite literally brought down the house."

Christine gasped and Madame Giry took immediate offense, "Monsieur! That is uncalled for!"

Pinot laughingly reassured them both of his good intentions, "Forgive me, mes belles, it is only in humor. Come now, you must realize that the cliental of the Theatre Mystere love nothing more than a good ghost story. To have Mademoiselle Christine Daae on my stage would be irresistible to them."

Madame Giry raised her brows. "Then you will engage her?"

Pinot nodded slightly at the older woman and smiled, turning his attention to Christine. "You must understand, Mademoiselle, that my theater specializes in tales of mystery and murder. There is not much music to be heard or dancing to be done, but to waste a voice such as yours would be a sin. I'm afraid, however, that your role would have to be a small one."

Christine smiled in relief. "A small role is more than acceptable, Monsieur."

Monsieur Pinot took Christine's hand and kissed it. "Then you will come to rehearsal tomorrow and we will find a way to work you in."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

As Christine and Madame Giry turned to leave, Pinot's voice interrupted. "Mademoiselle...I _could_ use an extra seamstress if you are still interested. It would increase the size of your paycheck."

Christine smiled radiantly. "I am most certainly interested, Monsieur."

* * *


	12. In Triumph

In Triumph

News of Christine's engagement at the Theatre Mystere had been slow to reach the dark caverns under the Opera House. Erik had secluded himself even more in the days since he had sent Christine away...again. The ache within him had eased only slightly, but enough for sanity to begin to settle over his mind. Each new day brought a little more clarity to his clouded psyche.

After the fire, Erik had easily avoided the police in their fumbling search of his tunnels, hiding away in a chamber he had built for just such an event. He had only been drawn out by Madame Giry's first return to his lair not four days after he'd brought the chandelier down. The woman was more acquainted than most with the secrets of the Opera House, and had sought him out in one of the tunnels that the police had been unable to detect. In the wretched, pitiful state he had been in then, Erik had nearly let her wander about to her own devices. Her presence had surprised him, as he'd been certain she would no longer care whether he lived or died, but they had known one another too long for her to simply abandon him to his fate.

With tears of sorrow and pity gleaming in her eyes, she had brought him bread, and looked him over for any wounds, having heard the rumor that he'd been shot. Of course, he had not been. He was far too clever for that. Hardly a word had been spoken except for Madame Giry to say she was glad to find him alive. Erik had only wished for death then, only feeling the life course in his veins when Christine returned. He had given in to his mad obsession for her again...but only for a moment…only for a night. And afterward, Erik had thought once again to hide himself away and wait for death, but Madame Giry had not allowed him that respite. She'd returned often with essentials and kept him informed of the Paris news, but she had not spoken Christine's name to him once. Erik had assumed that she had not wished to upset him with word of Christine's return to her Vicomte...but he had been wrong.

It had been a rare journey into the dark streets of Paris that made Erik finally aware of Christine's continued presence in his city. He had happened upon a poster declaring that the Theatre Mystere had secured the infamous Mademoiselle Christine Daae. He'd torn the poster from the wall in a rage, indignant that his angel would degrade herself by performing in a venue so beneath her.

So blinded by fury and pain, Erik had very nearly drawn attention to himself and risked discovery. When he'd finally calmed, he had begun to question why Christine would have taken such a position. And how _the boy _could have allowed it. To ask Madame Giry would have betrayed his continued longing for what he could not have, so Erik had carefully cloaked his appearance and stolen into the Mystere for an evening's performance.

It was a truth of theater that one design was very much like another, and finding himself a secure position in the catwalks had been shamefully easy. Keeping from reverting to form and causing mischief to the play had been decidedly more difficult.

They had actually the _nerve_ to cast Christine as an egotistical diva, and stage her murder after one rather uninspiring song. The entire production made Erik cringe, but hardly as much as some of the whispered gossip he had overheard as he'd crept behind the stage. The things that had been said about his precious angel had nearly sent him into a murderous rage. His temper was held in check only by his knowledge that it was _he _who had already ruined Christine's reputation beyond repair. _He _had reduced her this, and another murder in the name of love would do nothing but damage Christine even further.

And even as he damned himself a thousand times for her unfortunate circumstances, his black heart could not help rejoicing in the discovery that Christine was no longer engaged to le Vicomte de Chagny.

xXx

Raoul de Chagny's eventual return to Paris had not been in triumph. Indeed, he had stolen back into the city hoping not to be noticed at all. Of course, that was not to be. Every acquaintance he had ever made seemed to find him and subtly prod for details about the infamous Opera Ghost and his former fiancée.

The story of the affair had taken on a life of its own, and each person Raoul met seemed to have heard a different version, yet all of them seemed to make him look a fool for his blind devotion to a woman who clearly could not have loved him. His pain at losing Christine was magnified tenfold by his damaged pride. It was of little consolation to him that he was able to say that he had been the one to break the engagement, for he knew that was only a technicality. Christine had not wanted him.

He'd sought peace and oblivion in the country with his parents, but the time had done nothing to console him. He had stocked the house with all of the finest furniture and gowns to please Christine, and the orphaned belongings made a mockery of him in Christine's absence. His parents had not aided his quest for understanding, as they hadn't been able to hide their relief that Christine would not become the Vicomtess de Chagny. The tale of the Phantom and his obsession had alarmed the Comte and Comtess, and while they'd had a great deal of sympathy towards Christine, they had not thought their son's attachment to be a wise choice. Christine's unrelenting sadness during her stay with them had only served to make them both more wary of the match. Raoul's broken engagement had been quietly rejoiced, and his parents had constantly reminded him that Christine had been beneath him. Yet none of their reasoning really mattered to Raoul.

Only Christine. Always Christine.

Being in Paris again, amidst his own lingering demons, Raoul began to wonder if perhaps he had reacted unfairly to Christine's request for time apart. He had been hurt by her words of uncertainty...after months of telling him how she loved him, of fearing that the Phantom would part them forever...Christine had suddenly questioned her promise to Raoul. In _his_ mind, there had been no question of their future. He loved Christine and wanted nothing more than for them to be married as soon as possible. In his pain, he had demanded that she return to his estate and keep her promise. He had left her no choice.

Either way you choose you cannot win...

Cage her and she would have always longed for freedom...free her and she may never return. Yet her freedom need not have taken her completely away from Raoul, had he only allowed it to be so. The news of her situation at the Theatre Mystere had reached him rather quickly upon his return. He had been relieved to hear that Christine remained in Paris, still wonderfully unattached and again performing on the stage. There had been no sightings of the Phantom in the two months since the fire, although the authorities were still on alert. A strange calmness had seemed to settle over the city, and the impossible began to seem possible once again.

Quite by accident, Raoul's path had crossed that of Mademoiselle Giry. His brief conversation with Christine's friend had been tense, to say the least, but he recalled every vivid detail of it. The politely restrained reproof in her words to him on that afternoon still played again and again in his mind.

Christine asked only for your patience. Such a small thing to grant to the woman you claimed to love.

But he _had _been patient! He had always acted the perfect gentleman, gone through hell to save Christine from _that beast_. All of Paris seemed to think him a fool for his efforts, but he was not. He had not been blind to the compassion in Christine's eyes for her supposed angel, and seeing it had cut him to the core. He had loved her enough to accept that one small piece of her would never truly belong to him…_as long as the rest of her would be his._

And yet, when Christine had asked him for patience, he'd denied her.

Such a small thing to grant to the woman you claimed to love.

Perhaps he _had _been a fool after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Ah, the return of Erik. And what do you know, Raoul seems to be back, too. 


	13. In Expectation

In Expectation

Christine walked slowly back to the tiny dressing room she occupied at the theater. She was tired, so tired tonight. The Theatre Mystere was certainly no Opera Populaire, but it provided a paycheck, and a fairly decent paycheck, between her work as a seamstress on the costumes, and her small role in the performances. She knew she was lucky to have found the position at all.

Only Monsieur Pinot's rather macabre sense of humor had led him to take a chance on a woman of her reputation, such as it had become. Even here, the cast and crew often whispered behind her back, thinking her unaware of what they were saying.

Christine Daae, the Phantom's lover...the Vicomte de Chagny's mistress. Schemer...social climber...whore...

But just as Monsieur Pinot had suspected, her presence at the Theatre Mystere seemed to play very well to his audience. The house had been packed each night, almost as if the audience was anticipating an encore of _Don Juan Triumphant. _Erik's opera had been far superior to the tales of murder and mystery in which Christine now found herself. She was featured in only one or two scenes, always with a song to be sung, a silly little thing, nowhere near the beauty of…what she had known, but it suited her for the moment. Only for the moment, however, because Christine was beginning to understand that she could not remain in Paris indefinitely. The time was fast approaching when she would have no choice but to start a new life for herself..

She smiled a little despite her wayward thoughts, but the smile soon fell away at the sight of Raoul leaning against the wall outside her dressing room. He held a small bouquet of flowers in his grasp, and a hesitant smile on his face. He looked worn and older than he had when last she had seen him, but still heartbreakingly handsome. Christine waited for some familiar rush of emotion…some warm wonderful love to overwhelm her.

_Did it ever overwhelm me,_ she thought sadly

"Raoul? I...it has been some time since I have seen you. You look…well."

He smiled thinly and emitted a humorless little laugh. "Really, I had been told recently that I look most unwell. Forgive me, Christine. I know, you have no reason to welcome me."

Christine managed a smile, "Of course you are welcome, Raoul. Whatever else has passed between us, I would hope that we may remain friends."

His troubled expression cleared slightly, and his lips curved. "That is what I wish as well. These are for you, of course." He held out the flowers to her rather helplessly.

Christine took the bouquet, murmuring absently, "They're lovely."

Raoul's eyes drank her in as if dying for the sight of her. "_You_ are lovely, Christine."

She drew a breath, a sudden wave of queasiness rolling in her stomach. The last thing Christine wanted now was to encourage Raoul's feelings for her once again. "Raoul, why have you come here? I know it cannot have been to see the play."

He smiled in embarrassment, "The play is actually surprisingly good, but I have come to see you…to ask for your forgiveness."

Christine's eyes widened in astonishment. "My forgiveness for what?"

"For not allowing you the time you requested of me."

Raoul was apologizing to her?

"Oh, Raoul, I cannot be angry at you for that. You had every right to expect that I should marry you as I had promised."

He looked away in annoyance, seemingly with himself, "But no right to force your decision according to my timetable. It was...overbearing. And for that I am sorry."

Christine smiled sincerely. "For that you are forgiven, Raoul."

He seemed to hesitate a moment, fighting some inward battle with himself, before his expression softened into the tender emotion that Christine had seen in him so often before. "I still love you as I always have, Christine."

Guilt spun through her, making her feel slightly dizzy. "Raoul..."

He shook his head quickly, cutting off her protest, "No. You need not say anything. I only need you to know that I am willing to give you whatever time you need. All I ask is that you allow me to be part of your life again, Christine. I have...missed you."

She sighed, hesitating a moment before responding, "And I have missed you, Raoul." It was the truth, though she knew her feelings did not match the intensity of his.

Raoul smiled warmly. "Then will you allow me the honor of escorting you to dinner this evening?"

Christine turned her gaze away, a look of wariness upon her face, "Raoul, I…can make you no promises..."

He sought to reassure her, "I am only asking for dinner, Christine. Time spent in your company, free from all the influences which pulled at us before."

She debated with herself as to what her answer should be. She should refuse, she knew, but she'd so hated the way they had left things two months before. Certainly one dinner could do no harm to anyone, so she found herself agreeing, "I...would like that."

He smiled fully and kissed her hand. "Then I shall wait while you change from your costume."

Christine drew a steadying breath, managing to smile warmly at Raoul before excusing herself into the dressing room. Once safely inside, she leaned back against the closed door. Her heart began to race in sudden nervousness.

What are you doing? Agreeing to dinner with Raoul this late date?

But she _had _missed him, her dear childhood friend, and perhaps she was feeling greatly nostalgic as of late. Raoul had been so much a part of her life, of her past, and she still cared for him so very much. She needed only be careful not to mislead him, because she had come to know her heart completely in these past weeks on her own. Despite her warm feelings for Raoul, she was now certain that her love for him had never been a passionate emotion. She had not missed his touch, nor longed to hear his voice, nor ached for his kisses.

Yet Christine still ached for Erik. Each and every night as she lay tossing and turning in her tangled sheets….and each day as she sat sewing costumes…each evening as she sang her silly little song at the theater. She ached for him to come to her and mourned the fact that he had not.

Though there had been moments…almost ethereal moments…when she had been so certain that he was near her. She would feel his presence so strongly that it seemed he was just behind her shoulder, but when she turned, she would always find herself alone.

_No, not alone. She would never be alone again. Erik _was_ always with her now._

Without conscious thought, her hand drifted over her lower abdomen. Two months, and she could no longer deny what she had known in her heart from the moment she had given herself to Erik. She supposed that the exhaustion she felt could be easily contributed to her schedule at the theater, not to mention her sleepless nights. And those sleepless nights, along with the broken heart she still suffered, could explain her loss of appetite and slight queasiness…all of which could be contributing to her dizziness as of late. But all of these things together with the fact that she had not had her courses in over two months could not be explained away to simple melancholy.

And certainly not when she had welcomed Erik inside her body with such reckless abandon. Christine closed her eyes, thinking how ironic it was that Raoul should come back to her now….when she was almost certain that she carried Erik's child beneath her heart.

* * *

**A/N:** See…now there will be a little Erik in every chapter. I know, terrible pun… 


	14. In Sight

In Sight

Erik did not know of Christine's bittersweet reunion with Raoul de Chagny. The Vicomte had been lucky enough to call on her on one of the few nights that Erik himself had not been lurking about the Theatre Mystere. He discovered it was rather an easy theater to haunt, if he were thinking of doing such a thing again. _Which he was not, of course. _Except that he had been doing just that for several weeks, albeit in the most benign way possible. No accidents had befallen anyone, but the temptation had been so very sweet. His presence there had merely been to keep a watchful eye on his Christine.

He knew it was not the wisest course of action for a man who was wanted for murder to be stealing through the back alleys of Paris, practically tempting the authorities to find him. Yet he simply could not keep himself away from Christine. His endeavor to see that she was protected had required a great deal of stealth and planning on his part. Finding himself lacking his usual mask, thanks to Little Giry, he had fashioned himself a new one. The thin, pale leather had been in his possession for quite sometime, secreted away in his hidden chambers in case he found himself in need of it. Preparation had always been Erik's forte. He'd molded himself a half mask that was a good deal less noticeable than the elegant white he had previously favored. In fact, it would nearly match his complexion, had he the benefit of being able to walk in the sun at all. A carefully placed fedora tipped just so over his right eye did much to conceal his tell-tale appendage. From a distance, he hoped it seemed that he wore no mask at all.

He always chose the Rue Morgue exit, as it was the closet to the Mystere, and proceeded carefully through the three alleys that connected the blocks to the theater. A convenient back door to the theater had a sinfully simple lock, easily picked by a master magician such as himself. Once inside, Erik was quite at home amidst the under-stage passages and catwalks. The stage crew were creatures of habit, and it had not taken Erik long at all to map their routine. Staying hidden was a simple matter of moving to the places he knew would be unoccupied at the appropriate times. No one had ever caught sight of him yet.

Christine, however, had been another matter entirely. She had seemed oblivious enough to his presence the first night he had watched her, but her awareness as of late was rather extraordinary. She was hardly ever on stage at all, but when she was, when her exquisite voice would fill the auditorium with song, she wove a seductive spell over everyone in the theater. Erik always watched her scene from the upper catwalk, and his angel had taken to moving off her mark to stand just underneath him, her voice becoming even more passionate as she did so.

She never lingered backstage after her death scene, hardly spoke to anyone at all, but headed straight to her dressing room. Because the play was still in its first act, nearly everyone would be wrapped up in their own little worlds, and Erik could slip undetected around the rafters before Christine left the stage. Only one stagehand roamed those same rafters during her scene, and he was usually concentrating on properly rigging the next backdrop. Still, this was where Erik was the most vulnerable, chancing that the boy wouldn't look up at the wrong time. Thus far Fate had been kind to them both, and Erik's timing had been perfect. He'd shift around to linger over the ladder above the backstage entry just in time to see Christine leaving.

Christine had lately started to falter in passing under his position and would sharply look up into the shadows straight at him. The first time she had done it, Erik had been certain she had seen him there. She'd taken him off guard and his dive back into the corner of the walk had been rather slow and ungraceful. Yet Christine had only shaken her head, as if to clear it, and gone on her way. Now, Erik knew to expect this reaction from her, as it never failed that she would stop and look up unseeing to where he stood. Then a hand would flutter over her abdomen and she would draw an uneven breath, doubtless chastising herself for such foolishness.

Erik longed to go to her again, but nothing had changed. _He _had not changed, and so nothing _could_ change. While it made his heart soar to know that Christine was no longer engaged to that foolish fop, Erik could no more claim her for himself now than before. Her association with him had already ruined her career in the theater, forced her into such a menial role. She should be singing in a proper Opera, not toiling away in this novelty act, retreating to her dressing room to sew costumes.

Sewing! Christine Daae, leading soprano of the Opera Populaire…a common seamstress!

But what better life could Erik offer her? Haunting another Opera House… intimidating the managers into making his Christine a Prima Donna…killing for her again? No, nothing had changed. In time, the memory of the Opera Ghost would fade from the city, and the theater managers would no longer worry that he might come to haunt them should they hire Christine. Her talent was far too great to be kept from the stage indefinitely. This, more than anything, kept Erik ever conscious of remaining hidden. From everyone.

Oh, but the horrid selfish actors employed at this theater nearly pushed him beyond reason. The vicious things they would say about Christine behind her back enraged him. Yet Christine seemed un-phased by it all. Oh, Erik had seen the pain in her eyes, certainly, but she never betrayed it in her posture or her actions. His angel seemed much stronger than she had before.

And if the cast of the Mystere were all worthless snails, at least Monsieur Pinot seemed a gentlemanly sort. Indeed, it was his saving grace that he treated Christine so well despite the degrading role he had her playing. He treated _all _his performers very well, in fact, providing his own carriages and drivers to escort them to and from the theater if they so desired.

Christine always rode with two other ladies, as they three lived in the same area of the city. One of the ladies, and Erik used the term loosely, was a young actress who was rather cold towards Christine. The other lady was a little older and worked as a costumer and make up artist. She was actually quite kind to Christine, and his angel seemed very fond of her as well. On more than one occasion, the two would be left waiting in the lobby after hours for that little tramp to say goodbye to her lover of the moment. They would talk amiably, and every so often, Christine would look towards the darkened balcony above where Erik stood watching. She had become entirely too aware of him for his piece of mind, and so he knew he needed to force himself away from her.

Christine was not the same child he had taken under his wing to mold and tutor. No, she was a woman now. She no longer needed an angel to protect her and guide her. She needed a man. And that was the one thing Erik knew he could never be.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, so this chapter is mostly exposition, but I felt like I needed to show where Erik's mind is on his relationship with Christine. I know my writing style in this story tends to linger a bit...but I'm not using evil Raoul as an obstacle, so that just leaves Erik's messed up psyche, Christine's lack of backbone, and that whole Erik being wanted for murder thing standing in the way of happily ever after. The highly anticipated reunion is getting closer...hang in there.

As always, thank you for the reviews.


	15. In Hope

In Hope

Christine sat alone in quiet contemplation as she stared out her window in the direction of the Opera House. Two months had passed since she had last seen Erik. Nearly a week since she had dined with Raoul.

Poor Raoul, who still clung to the hope that she would come to love him as he loved her. Christine closed her eyes against the sorrow she felt at hurting him. Their time together had been full of wonderful memories. Childhood memories…but they were no longer children. At first, Raoul had valiantly kept their conversation light…asking her about her position at the theater, inquiring about her general comfort at the Marseille House, even asking about Madame Giry and Meg. But the talk soon turned back to his unchanged feelings for her, and Christine had been forced to tell him that her own feelings had settled into friendship.

_'We were children, Raoul,' _she had said_. 'I loved you as a child, and I accepted your proposal as a child. But as a woman, I know that I could not have made you happy.' _

He had been inclined to argue the point, insisting that she did make him happy.

_'I love you, Little Lotte. If only you will give me a chance to know you as the woman you've become…you will see that we _both_ can be happy…'_

Christine simply could not bring herself to tell Raoul the depth of her feelings for Erik, though she suspected that he must have known. He'd spoken so fervently of stability and comfort and safety, as if to remind her of what she could never have if she persisted in her attachment to a ghost. His words had been a horrible temptation to Christine in her current state. _Stability, comfort, safety._ All the things a child would need.

It would have been so terribly easy to accept Raoul back into her life…to swear her love and marry him quickly. Even the idea of such a thing had made her ill, almost as if Erik's child had been protesting his mother's devious thoughts. Raoul must have noticed her complexion turn slightly green, for he'd broken off in concern and asked if she was well. A few deep breaths and a sip of water had thankfully calmed her stomach, and Christine had firmly told Raoul again that she could promise him nothing but friendship. To that, he had smiled kindly, promised her that she could always count on his friendship, and gently informed her that he was still hoping her feelings for him might deepen in time.

Poor Raoul…time will only deepen my bond to the very man you fought to free me from.

A gentle knock at her bedroom door interrupted her musings, and she heard Meg's soft voice. "Christine?"

Sighing, Christine sagged back in her chair. "Come in, Meg. The door is open."

Meg pushed open the door and took in her friend's tired posture and pensive look. "Christine, are you well? You did not come down for dinner."

Even the thought of dinner had Christine fighting down a wave of nausea. "I am...not hungry, Meg."

Meg's sharp blue eyes narrowed intently on Christine's face. "You should take better care of yourself, Christine. You seem so tired of late, I fear you are pushing yourself too hard."

Christine smiled wanly. "I'm fine, Meg. Do not worry about me. I am only having restless nights thinking in circles."

"Thinking of...Erik?"

A tired sigh escaped her lips. "Yes, of course. It is always Erik."

The two friends had spoken a little of the two men in Christine's life, but for the most part, Christine had kept much of her thoughts to herself, especially of late. Meg hesitated, uncertain if she should voice the question foremost in her mind this night, but it was a question much in need of an answer. "And what of Raoul?"

"Raoul?" Christine's brows rose in surprise, and she laughed without humor. "It is strange that you should ask about him. I have seen him recently."

Again, Meg hesitated. In truth, she had seen him back in Paris as well...but she did not betray this news to Christine. Instead she feigned innocence. "Have you?"

"Yes. He came to the theater several days ago and escorted me to dinner."

Meg raised a single brow, and Christine wondered idly if her friend knew how like her stern mother she seemed in that gesture. "Dinner? Do you think that was wise?"

Christine laughed again, a little more amused this time. "When have I pretended to be wise?"

Meg frowned, "Christine, you should not toy with Raoul's affections if your heart remains set on Erik."

Christine slanted a curious look at her friend, suddenly struck by something. "Meg, when have you begun to call Raoul by his given name?"

Meg colored slightly. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Before you have always spoken of him as le Vicomte."

Meg shook her head in denial. "I'm certain that I must have used his name in the past."

Christine frowned, not really remembering a time when she had. "Perhaps, but you certainly have not encouraged my feelings for Erik before." Indeed, Meg had always seemed to favor Raoul.

Meg frowned, "That isn't true. I've only urged you to be certain of whatever decision you might make. Especially where it concerns Erik."

Christine smiled ruefully. "The decision is no longer mine to make, Meg."

"What do you mean?"

For a moment, Christine considered confessing her suspicions to her friend, but then she thought better of it. Meg had not approved of Christine's wanton behavior in Erik's chamber. Telling her friend of the consequences of that night was too much for Christine to face at the moment. She sighed tiredly, and a wayward tear escaped the corner of her eye. "I only mean that Erik will not have me now. He...he has not come to me in all these weeks." Though at times she felt certain that he was near, and she clung to that feeling in hope...just as she clung to his mask at night as she slept. "I have no way of even knowing if he remains at the Opera House."

Meg's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean that you have not seen him again?"

"Of course I haven't. I asked Raoul for time to be certain of my feelings. I thought it only fair to take the same from Erik, so there could be no question." Although it likely had not mattered, as Erik seemed to have no intention of taking her back.

Meg's gaze sharpened on Christine's face. "And are you certain of your feelings now, Christine?"

She sighed deeply and closed her eyes against the dull ache. "I love Erik."

Meg studied Christine a moment more. Such a simple statement with such implications, but there was no longer any hesitation…no qualifications...no fear. Only acceptance. _Perhaps Christine has finally found herself, _she thought. "He remains at the Opera."

Christine's eyes snapped open at this, her voice full of such longing. "You have seen him?"

"_I_ have not, but...Maman has gone back to the Opera on several occasions."

Pain filled Christine's eyes. "But Madame has sworn to me that she has not seen Erik."

It had become a little ritual, really. At least once a week, Christine would gather the courage to ask Madame if she had seen him, and the older woman would look at Christine sternly and say, '_I am sorry, child. I cannot tell you what you wish to hear.'_

Meg averted her eyes in guilt, suddenly preferring the days when _she _had been the one kept in the dark about such things. "She only meant to protect you, Christine…and Erik….to give you both time to heal from the damage you had inflicted on one another."

Christine raised a brow, "Damage?" Her hand drifted to her abdomen, and a strange little smile played on her lips. "Such beautiful, exquisite damage."

Meg looked at her friend oddly. "Christine? I truly fear for you when you say things like that."

Christine ignored the comment, excitement bubbling within her. "Meg, I must see him. I must know if his feelings for me remain unchanged."

Meg sighed in resignation, "Then we must speak to Maman. I am certain she will know how to find him."

Christine smiled in eager anticipation. She was much changed from her last meeting with Erik. Once again her hand pressed against the secret she carried within her.

I will not be sent away again.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay...next chapter is the one you've been waiting for. My humble little fic has experienced some recent growth in readers...so welcome to you all.


	16. In Touch

In Touch

In the passages under the Opera, Antoinette Giry glanced back over her shoulder at Christine, taking note of the younger woman's trepidation. She was uncertain of the welcome she would receive from Erik, and it was wise that she should be. Antoinette felt her own uncertainty at the wisdom in the action. She had spent the past two months watching Christine struggle to understand the depth of her own emotions, and resisting the girl's every effort to pry some news of Erik from her. She had not trusted the true conviction of Christine's heart. The girl's past inconstancy where Erik was concerned was simply not acceptable, nor was Erik's obsessive manipulation of Christine. The two had nearly destroyed one another once already...leaving Antoinette's beloved Opera Populaire in ruins. Such a thing could not be allowed to happen again.

So she had stubbornly resisted this reunion at first, but as the days continued to pass, Antoinette's sharp eyes and even sharper mind began to notice certain little oddities in Christine's demeanor. Oddities that a woman of her age and experience in the Paris theater had been more observant of than most, and she understood that the time for resisting had likely passed. On this night, her own Meg had insisted that it was time, and Antoinette only prayed that she would not live to regret her decision.

Coming to a stop at a seemingly innocuous spot in the tunnel, Antoinette pushed against an oddly shaped stone imbedded in the wall. Christine jumped as the wall behind her rumbled and began to shift, revealing a doorway. Christine's tension doubled as she followed Madame Giry into the chamber. There was a simple desk and lamp in the room that was revealed, and a stone wall behind. A shadow seemed to dance in the corner of the wall, making Christine realize that there was another opening there…and then the shadow took form.

Erik's familiar tenor filled the chamber. "Ah, Madame Giry, have you brought what I...?" When his eyes landed on Christine, all trace of easiness fled from his voice. "What have you done, you foolish woman?"

Antoinette raised an eyebrow. "I have brought you what you needed, Erik." She set the parchments and loaves of bread on the desk. "As I always do. I trust that Mademoiselle Daae will be safe in your presence."

Christine spoke then, but her eyes remained fixed on Erik. "I assure you I will be, Madame." She glanced only briefly at the older woman. "Thank you."

Antoinette nodded and disappeared in the direction she had come, leaving Christine alone with Erik. Her eyes raked over him, taking in every beloved detail. He looked paler than usual, and more haggard than she had ever seen him before. He wore black trousers and a white shirt open at the throat, his former elegance forgotten, and a leather mask was fixed on his drawn face. Still, Christine had never seen a sight so beautiful.

Erik nearly growled in frustration and turned his back to Christine. He longed to wrap her in his arms, but she could never know know that. "What must I do to be rid of you?"

Christine flinched at the pain his words caused her, but the weeks on her own had made her stronger. She drew a fortifying breath to keep her voice from trembling, "Only death will free you from me, Erik, and even that may not be enough."

He turned to her in surprise. "You would speak of death so carelessly?" He smirked, "Singing for your supper at the Theatre Mystere has done wonders for your disposition, Christine."

Christine could not help the small smile at hearing that he had not been ignorant of her time away from him. Perhaps she had not been mad to have felt his presence all these weeks. "Did Madame Giry tell you of that, or have you come to see me?"

He huffed, "Who in Paris has not heard the latest gossip about the great Christine Daae? Whisked away by a monster, abandoned by a fiancée and left to slum in the second theater."

Christine shuddered, knowing well what her reputation was now…and soon to be even worse, she suspected. "I was abandoned by no one but you, Erik."

Erik's eyes flashed, "And still you return here. Why Christine? Nothing has changed since last we spoke."

Her temper sparked, "When last we spoke, I told you that I loved you…and you swore yourself to me. Then I woke naked and alone with only a note."

His words dripped with venom. "A wiser woman would have known when she was no longer wanted."

Christine stiffened and sucked in a startled breath, but she did not retreat from his challenge. Narrowing her eyes, she moved determinedly closer to him, raising her hands to his face to draw his head down. "If you no longer want me, Erik, then prove it." The last word was whispered against his mouth before she captured his lips, pouring all of her pent up passion and frustration into the kiss.

For several agonizing seconds, Erik stood passive in front of her, and she began to doubt. Then a helpless groan rumbled from his chest and his arms came possessively around her as he returned her kiss with ardor. S_o much for Erik not wanting me, _she thought.

But just as violently as he had given in, Erik pushed Christine away from him and turned his back on her. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and his voice was thick with sorrow, "Why must you keep tormenting me? Why will you not just take your freedom and go?"

Christine drew an unsteady breath and pressed her hands to Erik's back. "I will never be free of my love for you…just as you will never be free of yours for me."

Erik turned quickly and gripped Christine's shoulders, his eyes gleaming with untold pain and longing. "You were a fool to come back to me, Christine."

She raised her right hand to cup his flawless cheek. "Then let me be a fool, Erik…only let me be with you."

He closed his eyes a moment. _Send her away…you must send her away. But… _"God forgive me. I cannot let you go again." His voice hardened with determination. "I will not let you go."

Erik pressed his mouth hard against hers, and Christine surrendered without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck in an effort to pull him even closer. For two months, she had longed to feel this passion play again. There was no gentle foreplay between them...no backward glances...they were both driven by the desperate need to be connected once again. There would be time enough later to say all that still needed to be said.

Christine tore at his shirt, pulling at it impatiently until his chest was bare. Erik groaned and lifted her against him, carrying her into the connecting chamber. The bed was small…hardly more than a cot…but it was all they needed on this night. Christine could not seem to touch him enough, and she ran her hands over his flesh, pressing her lips to his skin as he undressed her. Their clothes melted away in the fire of passion, and Erik settled her onto the cot and followed her down. Christine reached out with her left hand and tore his mask free. Erik tried to turn his head away, but she firmly turned his face back and captured his mouth again, and he was lost to her sweet seduction. His lips moved down her throat, and lower, while his hands played over her body, caressing her flesh and drawing a moan of pleasure from her.

"Erik...please..."

He bit off a harsh curse, damning himself for his weakness, but unable to resist her siren's call. He slid into her warmth, felt her body embrace him, and for one incredible moment, they hung suspended in the beauty of their joining. But the need for completion was too powerful to resist, and soon they began to move together in perfect rhythm until pleasure overtook them completely. They were swept up in a torrent of sensation, their cries of bliss blending together in the most exquisite duet. When the echoes of their song finally faded into silence, they collapsed against one another. Wild heartbeats and ragged breaths slowly returned to a steady tempo, and Erik shifted their bodies on the cot so that he could hold Christine close to him, gently tracing a loving hand over her skin.

He could feel her lips curve into a little smile against his chest as she whispered, "I love you, Erik."

Her words gave him such intense pleasure, and he knew he would not be able to send her away again. He had been right in his thinking that Christine was truly a woman now. She had sought him out on her own…again…despite everything he had done to keep her away. "And I love you, mon ange. Now close your eyes and sleep."

Christine tensed in his arms, remembering all too clearly what had happened the last time she had fallen asleep in Erik's arms. "I will sleep if you promise me that you will be here when I wake."

Erik chuckled a little at her words. Twice he had torn his own heart out to grant her freedom, he could not do so again. "I will be here, Christine. I promise you."

She sighed and her body relaxed against him. Soon her breathing began to even out as the blissful blanket of sleep claimed her.

* * *

**A/N: **So , Erik caved. But Christine still has her little secret to tell him... 


	17. In Love

In Love

As Christine drifted into consciousness, she became immediately aware that she was alone in Erik's bed. Memories of their first night together came rushing back and panic set her heart thundering. "Erik?" Only silence greeted her and her racing heart began to shatter. She sat up quickly, calling out to him again with a tremor in her voice, "Erik?"

He appeared from the other part of the chamber, already dressed in his shirt, trousers, and the mask back upon his face. He rushed to her and sat upon the edge of the bed, "I am here, mon ange. Just as I promised."

Christine released the breath she'd been holding as she reached for his hand and held it tightly. "I thought you'd gone again."

Erik smiled in reassurance. "I found myself awake early, and thought I would work a little." And brood, of course. As much as he wanted Christine with him again, he could not ignore the harsh reality of their situation. He still had nothing to offer, and Christine deserved so much more than darkness and shadows.

Christine smiled, oblivious to his inner struggles. "Work on what? Certainly not another opera."

He chuckled, "No, only some designs. You should dress, Christine, so that I may return you to Madame Giry. She will wonder what I have done to you."

Christine smiled rather wickedly, "Then I shall have to enlighten her."

Erik shook his head and stood, reaching for Christine's discarded dress. "It is not a matter to jest about, my love. I have no control where you are concerned. This is the second time I have dishonored you."

Christine had slipped from the bed as well, strangely unashamed by her nakedness, and was retrieving her undergarments. "Erik, don't be foolish. You have not dishonored me. I have given myself to you freely...without regret." She pulled on her chemise as she spoke.

"Freely or not, my love, we are not married." He offered her dress to her.

"Are we not?" She mused with a thoughtful smile. "It feels as though we are. It has for some time now." Since the night of _Don Juan Triumphant _when she had agreed to be his bride, if she were to be truly honest with herself.

Erik sighed in frustration, "Christine, this is impossible. You know that. I am a wanted man. We cannot even be seen together."

Christine finished buttoning her dress and looked at Erik thoughtfully, saying the words she had spoken to him once before. "Perhaps not in Paris, but Paris is not the only city in the world. We could go away from here, where the story of the opera ghost and his beloved soprano has no power."

Erik flung his right hand up towards his mask, his voice hard. "Wherever we go I will still have this face."

Christine stepped towards him and rested her own hand against the unmarred side of his face. Her eyes were soft and her lips curved in a sweet smile. "Yes, Erik, but you will also have your talent, your intellect, your passion…and you will have me. You will have my love, and..." She drew a breath, her soft smile trembling around the edges. "There is something else I am almost certain you will have."

Erik took her hand from his face and pressed a gentle kiss to it, smiling indulgently at Christine's inherent goodness. "And what is that, mon ange?"

Christine looked deeply into his eyes. "I think...I am with child."

All trace of happiness and humor left Erik's eyes. "No…no!" He spun away from her violently, the meaning of her words tearing through his dark soul. "You cannot be...! There can never be a child between us, Christine! I will not allow it!"

Pain and fear assaulted Christine at his cold words, "Not allow it, Erik? You cannot prevent it."

He spun back to her, the icy rage evident in every tense muscle of his body. His eyes were wild and his voice deadly, "You would be surprised what I could do to prevent it!"

Christine reared back and slapped him hard across the face, his head snapped to the right with the force of her blow. She moved to strike him again, but Erik caught her wrist. His rage was suddenly and unexplainably replaced with a strange desperation. "Please, Christine…tell me it is a mistake. I will forgive you anything if you only tell me that the child you carry is not mine."

Christine could barely speak through her tears. _Oh, God, he does not want our child. _The pain she felt was sharper than any she had ever known. She felt herself teetering on the edge of complete anguish, but she had more than herself to think of, so she forced a calm that she did not feel. "Then I'm afraid that you will not forgive me, for if do I carry a child, he can have no other father but you. And I will not be sorry for it."

Erik released her wrist as if scalded and paced away from her. He turned to spear her with an incredulous glare. "Not sorry for it! And if it is born bearing my mark upon its face, will you be not be sorry for it then?"

Christine drew all of the strength she had recently found within herself to try and make Erik understand. "I will love our child, Erik, no matter what face he wears, because he is ours, and because he was made in love…from love..." Her voice faltered over a choked sob, but she forced herself to continue. "Can you tell me that it will mean nothing to you? That you will not love our child as you have wished to be loved...as you love me..." Christine could not stop her sobs any longer, and stood before him trembling in tears with her hands pressed protectively to her stomach.

Erik stared at her, feeling his poor excuse for a soul being shred to even smaller pieces. _She meant it! _He could see...Christine had meant this to be a happy thing. _What had he done? _"Christine..."

Erik stepped towards her and felt his heart shatter when she took a wary step back. He truly _mus_t be a monster to be so cruel towards her in her time of need. He reached for her in desperation, and when she did not back away again, Erik dropped to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face to her stomach as he whispered raggedly, "Forgive me, Christine. Please...forgive me."

Christine tangled one hand into his hair and pressed the other to his back, holding him tightly to her for long moments as she struggled with her own emotions. She had known this would not be easy for him. His life had been hell because of his disfigurement, and now she was asking him to risk passing that hell on to an innocent child. She would have been terribly naïve not to have already thought of every possible outcome to her pregnancy, but in every outcome, her own heart had remained unchanged. With or without Erik, Christine would have his child and give to it all the love that should have been given to Erik himself. So the words when they came were easy to say, "Yes, Erik. I forgive you."

He drew his head back to look up into her red-rimmed eyes, whispering in disbelief, "A child...?" He shook his head slightly, uncertain what to say now.

Christine traced her fingers down his cheek. "It will take time for you to accept, I know, but you will come to love our child as I do, Erik."

He dropped his head again, hiding his eyes from her so she would not see the doubt lingering there. He sighed heavily, and released his grip on her waist so that he could stand. "Come Christine, you have stayed too long in this cold cellar already. You should not be here in your condition. I will walk you to the end of the tunnel."

Christine's hand on his arm stopped him, her eyes were wide and pleading and her voice trembled slightly. "Erik, you will not disappear on me, will you?"

He met her eyes evenly. "I will make arrangements for us, Christine. We will leave Paris as soon as possible."

Relief passed over her beautiful face. "Yes, Erik." His words had not been phrased as a question, but Christine had needed him to hear her answer nonetheless. She stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly, relieved to feel him return her embrace.

When finally they parted, Erik led her towards the entrance of the tunnels, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her gently before watching her slip into the back alley. Erik kept a watchful eye until she was safely in the street and on her way back to the boarding house. Then he sank back into the shadows.

* * *

**A/N:** Poor Erik probably could have handled that better…but at least he didn't totally blow it. Christine's newly acquired backbone sure is coming in handy. 

Until tomorrow, kind readers.


	18. In Life

In Life

A child...a child.

The words were so foreign to him that Erik could barely comprehend their meaning. Christine was having a child, and he hadn't a clue what he was to do about it. In all the years of his single minded obsession with her, Erik had never once allowed the fantasy to progress to its natural conclusion. Oh, of course he had played out his dream to possess her, body and soul, countless times. She would come to him and he would sate his lust with her willing flesh. _That_ fantasy had been seen to its conclusion many, many times. Beyond that…well…there had not been much beyond that, save his delusional idea of keeping her with him in his cold, damp lair…releasing her only so that she might sing his operas as he watched her from his box. His grasp on sanity simply had not been strong enough to work out the details of what that life would mean to Christine.

It was her first desperate kiss that had awoken him from his selfish madness. Her return to him weeks later had been too much, too soon, for him to think clearly. He had known, of course, in the deep recesses of his mind, the biology of the act. He simply had not been able to reconcile _that_ to the passion he and Christine had shared. Surely such a union between an angel and a demon could never result in the creation of a life. Fate simply could not permit it. Erik should have realized sooner that Fate had been nothing but cruel to him from the moment of his own birth.

You should have never touched her.

That Christine had been as consumed by desire as he was no consolation to him. There was no forgiveness to be had for allowing a child of his blood to be conceived; another poor creature like himself. If that was wasn't unforgivable enough, Erik had nearly left Christine to face the consequences of their union alone. He had no doubt she fancied herself prepared for whatever may come, but Erik knew she could never fully comprehend the cruel fate that he might have brought upon her…upon the...child. Even her compassionate nature and loving heart could not shield the child should it be born…as he had been.

But there is a chance, is there not? A chance that Christine's child will be as pure and as beautiful as she is.

And what then? Would his own child look upon him with fear, or shame, or pity?

Or unconditional love…such as you have never before known.

Did he even deserve such a thing?

Of course you do not, Erik. You have ruined her…you will ruin her child.

Our child.

My child.

Mine.

Good lord, Christine was carrying _his _child! _He _had fathered a child. Erik gasped for breath, suddenly unable to take enough air into his lungs. His hands were trembling and his body shuddering. A life with Christine was no longer a fantasy, no longer a dream or a game. It was real. As real as their child.

Remaining in Paris was impossible now. But where? Where could he have any hope of keeping Christine safe, giving her a life in the light, and still keep himself anonymous? Frustrated beyond belief, Erik knew only that he must form a plan. And quickly. For Christine's sake.

xXx

Christine all but floated back to the boarding house, a happiness unlike any she had known growing steadily in her heart. For the first time in months, she felt complete again. Of course, she was not naïve enough to believe that all of her problems with Erik had been solved. There had been far too much pain in his past…in both their pasts…and their future held no guarantees. Christine knew that her life with Erik would never be easy, but had she wanted easy, she'd have stayed with Raoul. He would have provided her with every comfort, but her connection with Erik would have remained…always pulling at her. She had very nearly chosen a life of safety rather than fight to pull the man she loved from his darkness.

She was not the same child who had run towards shelter. Indeed, she would soon have a child of her own to shelter and protect._ Erik's child. _Though she had not yet had it confirmed with a doctor, she knew it to be true...could feel it even now. It was the hope for their future.

Christine smiled softly as she climbed the stairs at the Marseille House. As soon as her foot graced the top step, Meg greeted her with a cautious smile. "Christine?"

Christine's own smile bloomed and a happy giggle escaped her. She grabbed her friend into a fierce hug. "Oh, Meg! I have never been so happy!"

Meg could not help but join in the good humor. "So I see." She pulled back slightly from Christine's embrace. "You must tell me everything."

"Meg...Christine will tell us only what she feels appropriate, and certainly nothing here in the hallway." The stern reprimand came from Madame Giry who had quietly appeared behind the girls.

The two colored slightly and Antoinette ushered them inside Christine's room. "Now then, Christine. I assume by your obvious happiness that your..." Antoinette chose her wording carefully. "_conversation_...with Erik went as you had hoped."

Christine blushed even more. "Better than I had hoped, actually. He loves me as I love him, and we will not be parted again. Though we both realize our being together will not be an easy task." Christine's eyes grew slightly troubled. "We will have to leave Paris."

Antoinette nodded and Meg gasped slightly, "Oh Christine! Where will you go?"

"I am not entirely certain. Erik said he would make arrangements, but I don't even know how soon he intends for us to leave, and I really must give my notice to Monsieur Pinot after all he has done for me."

Antoinette took Christine's hand and gave a reassuring squeeze. "Do not worry, Christine. Meg and I will help in any way that we can."

Christine smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, Madame, for all that you've done."

The older woman nodded, a tiny glint in her eyes. "I will leave you girls to your talk." She left the room with a quiet click of the door.

Meg grinned broadly at Christine. "Now, Christine, tell me honestly. You and Erik did not spend the entire night in _conversation, _did you?"

Christine's rosy cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson. "Meg! Such a wicked question."

Meg laughed gaily. "I am only teasing. I would never presume to ask for such intimate details." She grew a bit more serious. "But I am curious how Erik received you after the way in which you last parted."

Christine sighed. "He was not pleased to see me at first…still insisting on granting me a freedom which I did not ask him for...but, Meg, he is just as bound to me as I am to him. He could not send me away again. I know that loving him will never be a simple thing. He is far to complicated a man, and I fear sometimes that I am no easier, but I cannot help but feel...hopeful for the future."

Meg nodded, smiling softly, "As am I, Christine. I have certainly never seen you look happier in all the years I have known you. Not even during your engagement to Raoul."

Christine sighed again, "Poor Raoul. What am I to do about him, Meg? I am afraid that our dinner might have given him false hopes, even though I endeavored to make myself clear that we could be no more than friends. Indeed, our conversation barely strayed from childhood memories. Yet he seems determined that our continued friendship will deepen in time. If he should call on me again before Erik and I are safely away from here, I am not certain I can refuse him without arousing his suspicions."

Meg looked thoughtfully at Christine. "Then you will not refuse him." Christine raised her eyebrows, and Meg continued. "You mean him only friendship now, and friendship is all you will offer him. There need be nothing more to it than that."

Christine smiled. "You make it sound so simple."

"And sometimes I think you make things far more dramatic than they need be. Enjoy your happiness, Christine. There will be enough difficulties to overcome without adding Raoul to your worries. And I promise I will do all that I can to dull any romantic intentions from him."

Christine looked curiously at her friend, once again taking note of the familiarity with which she now seemed to refer to le Vicomte. "And how will you do that, Meg?"

Meg rolled her eyes in self depreciation. "Oh, Christine...trust me. I am quite adept at cooling a gentleman's romantic feelings with my very presence."

"Meg! Do not speak of yourself in such a way!"

Meg laughed again, shaking her head. "Christine, I only mean that I shall not leave you un-chaperoned if he should come to call on you here. I'm afraid, however, that you will be on your own at the theater."

Christine smiled slightly. "And I suppose I will not be at the theater much longer."

Meg frowned a little. "God, I will miss you, Christine."

"And I will miss you, but, God willing, we will be able to see each other again one day."

The two friends hugged fiercely before parting to carry on with the days events.

* * *

**A/N:** Well...dear Erik is still working through those issues of his, but at least he's got it in his mind to stay with Christine this time. 


	19. In Planning

In Planning

In the dark recesses under the Opera Populaire, a single torch illuminated the stone walls as Antoinette Giry carefully made her way towards the underground lake. Christine's hopefulness upon her return to the boarding house had been obvious, yet Antoinette could not help but feel wary of what was to come. Erik had been alone in his misery and madness far too long, and Christine was still but a child in many ways, despite her recent maturity.

Antoinette had endeavored to keep them apart for precisely this reason, but that was not to be. All she could hope to do now was ease their reunion in whatever way she could. She had helped Erik in countless little ways over the years, but none so vital as this. She had done his bidding in moderation, mostly as a messenger in his haunting, extortion and schemes. She had feared his darker nature, his moral ambiguity and terrible temper. Antoinette was still uncertain whether Christine was strong enough to take on the responsibility of standing beside Erik, but it was clear that she was, perhaps, the only person who ever could.

But could Erik forsake the Phantom to become a man for Christine? Antoinette had to know what he was planning now. She would do all that she could to aid him in this…she owed it to him, and to Christine. Her own foolishness years ago had set this all in motion, and she was determined to make amends for it now. Antoinette would do whatever was necessary to finally give Erik the life that had been denied to him for so long.

She had felt a certain sense of dread at finding his chamber in the north tunnel empty, and had proceeded down to his former lair. Certainly, he should have been alerted to her presence by now, yet there was no sign of him. Antoinette could not imagine that Erik would have ventured out of the tunnels in broad daylight, though she suspected that he had taken to traveling the Paris streets at night, chancing discovery. Though the authorities had moved their attention to more pressing issues in recent weeks and the strange case of the Phantom of the Opera was all but officially closed, one misstep by Erik would bring them all back down upon him again. Such a thing would devastate Christine.

Making her way to the end of the passageway, she called out for him. "Erik? Erik, are you here?" There was no answer at first, and she stepped into the connecting chamber, surprised to find Erik sitting on the landing in front of the bed, bent over with head in hands. She had not seen him look so defeated since she had first discovered him after the fire. She grew uneasy at his obvious despair, thinking how contrary it was from Christine's happiness. "Erik? What has happened?"

He raised his head slowly, and for a moment, stared blankly at her until his face seemed to clear slightly. "Antoinette. Why are you here?" Suddenly a look of panic crossed his features and he stood quickly. "Is it Christine? Has she not returned safely?"

Antoinette shook her head and replied quickly, "Christine is fine. I left her looking happy and in love…but it seems you do not share her contentment."

Erik turned away to avoid the woman's accusing stare. He dragged a hand through his hair. "What has she told you?"

Antoinette eyed his back, seeing the tension in every line of his posture. "Only that you have found your way back to one another, and that you intend to leave Paris. I came here to ask what you need of me."

Erik seemed to collect himself then, his shoulders rose and fell with the deep breath he drew, and he turned back to her with determined purpose. "I will need a coach and horses. It is the most inconspicuous means of travel for us. I know you have connections..."

She nodded, "I do. You will have what you need, Erik. May I ask you where you are thinking of going?"

Erik leveled his gaze on her, debating a moment the extent to which he should trust her. He had not forgotten her betrayal of him on the night of the fire, but he knew Antoinette had only acted in fear for Christine. It had been forgiven, and Erik chose to trust Madame Giry with his plans. "Calais. Although we will only go as far as Chantilly by coach, I think. The railway station there should provide a more discreet boarding. We will try to book passage in Calais to Dover. England should be safe enough for the time being."

Antoinette nodded again, her sharp mind already working out details. "I have contacts which might secure you tickets for the train."

Erik smiled slightly, "Thank you, Antoinette."

She raised a brow and speared him with a reproachful look. "You are welcome, Erik. Now tell me why you are not happier to finally have all that you have wanted."

His expression grew suddenly dark, his tone hardening, "I did not want this, Madame! Christine deserves better than to be forced away from all she has known...all she loves."

Antoinette shook her head sharply. "She loves _you_, Erik." The tone of her words conveyed an unveiled reprimand, and Erik's self contempt drained away.

His voice softened to a hoarse whisper, "And I love her, but what has my love cost her?"

She narrowed her eyes as her motherly instincts took over, "Erik! Your self pity will be of no use to Christine! If you cannot begin your life together with hope, then what future will you have?" Her voice softened and her lips turned up just a little. "She has chosen a life with you, Erik, but you must choose that life as well. If you love her as you say, then you will embrace what the two of you have made between you."

At her careful phrasing, Erik's eyes locked on hers. _She cannot possibly know_, he thought. Yet somehow, he suspected that Antoinette Giry had more ways of knowing things than even he. Erik drew in a deep breath and nodded obediently. "You will...speak with your contacts. Tell Christine I will come to her tonight so that we may discuss our plans further."

"I will, Erik." Antoinette hesitated a moment before adding. "I...know of a vicar who has a very small church just to the south of Chantilly. I know him to be very discreet, should you desire his...services."

Erik stared at her stunned. _A vicar? A church? Christine as his…wife?_

He cleared his throat, "I...will…speak with Christine."

She nodded in approval. "Very well."

As she turned to go, Erik stopped her, "Antoinette..." She turned to look back at him and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of the almost hesitant smile upon his face as he spoke, "Thank you, for everything."

She nodded and returned his smile. "You are most welcome. Please be certain to keep yourself safe tonight, Erik."

He chuckled a little, "As always, Madame."

Antoinette nodded to him again and made her way back through the chamber to begin her ascent to the streets above. Left alone once more, Erik glanced around the remnants of his once opulent lair. He had spent so many years here in his playground, lost in the music that had echoed from the Opera above. Love and betrayal, life and death, pleasure and pain had all sounded off these walls. And now only silence. The music had faded away by his own hand, and he knew that he too must fade away. The Phantom was truly dead, buried here in the dark, broken remains of the Opera.

It was time for Erik to begin his life.

* * *

**A/N:** I know…short chapter, but necessary for exposition. Fluff will be coming up next. 


	20. In Heart

In Heart

Christine could feel Erik's presence at the Theatre Mystere during her performance. It was a sensation she had often felt before, but in his determined absence these past weeks she had imagined herself only conjuring the feeling from her own longings. Now she suspected he had indeed been here on more than one occasion, simply keeping himself hidden from her.

He would not be hiding tonight. As she left the stage after her scene and headed for her dressing room, Erik's presence grew even stronger. She smiled a little, expecting his dramatic appearance at any moment, although she worried for him in so public a place.

As Christine closed the door of her tiny dressing room, she sensed him there and grinned. "I think perhaps I shall need to get a bell for you, so I know when you are about." She turned towards his cloaked figure as she brought up the lamp.

He wore the tan mask she had first seen him in the night before, shaded by the brim of his fedora. The color and the shadow worked in such a way so that, at first glance, it did not seem as if he wore a mask at all. His lips were curved in a beautiful, ironic smile. "It seems you do not need any help in discovering my presence."

Christine smiled sweetly and slipped into his arms, pressing a brief kiss to his lips. "I can feel you with me, Erik. It is a strange ability I seem to have developed."

His left brow rose slightly. "Yes, you've nearly caught sight of me on more than one occasion in these past months."

Her smile grew wider. "I knew you could not have abandoned me completely! Erik, why did you make me wait so long?"

He shook his head and disengaged himself from her embrace. "You know the answer to that."

Christine huffed, "Your sudden unselfishness and desire for my happiness, I know. Let us not revisit that conversation."

Erik looked duly chastised at her biting tone. He regarded her closely a moment, admiring the woman she had become in so short a time. "I find you are much changed these past weeks, mon ange."

Christine bristled slightly. "And this surprises you? I am no longer the little girl who ran from you in fear, Erik. I am a woman who finally knows her own heart." She closed the small distance between them once again and cupped his face in her hands. "And my heart is yours." She kissed him again, allowing her mouth to linger over his before she pulled away with a sparkle dancing in her dark eyes. "Now, tell me, my love, shall I give Monsieur Pinot my notice tonight?"

Erik grimaced, narrowing his eyes. "You most certainly shall! As you would even if we were to stay in Paris! Honestly Christine, how you have consented to appear in such a low end production is beyond my understanding."

Her brows rose and she looked at him crossly. "Erik! I had little choice if I expected to pay my expenses, and Monsieur Pinot has been nothing but kind to me."

Erik conceded her point, if rather begrudgingly. "Well, I must give the man credit for his good treatment of you, but I will never approve of the roles you've been forced to play."

"Well, I suppose I would have needed to give my notice soon at any rate. It will not be long before the evidence of our love becomes unmistakable." Even as she spoke, a serene smile settled over Christine's face and protective hand came to rest over her already thickening waist.

Erik watched the gesture in helpless fascination and he drew an unsteady breath. "Perhaps we should rethink our plans, Christine. You will need support in the coming months which I am not certain that I can give you."

Her smile slipped immediately, and she fought to keep her tone from betraying her anxiety. "Do you mean to send me away again, Erik? Because I will make it no easier for you now than before."

He laughed without humor and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "Christine, I would never send you away from me now." His stormy eyes grew even more pensive. "But perhaps I should not take you from Paris and all that you know in your...current state."

Christine could not help but smile at Erik's almost hesitant concern. She'd finally had her pregnancy confirmed by a doctor that very afternoon, and he'd assured her that all was as it should be. She was in excellent health. "My current _state_ does not prevent my traveling, Erik. Nor does it suddenly render me a fragile and breakable thing…" She grew serious again as she wrapped her arms around him, resting her hands against his back. "But living without you again surely would."

His lips tilted ever so slightly. "No, mon ange. I feel certain you will never be a fragile thing again." He kissed her forehead softly. "How is your English, then?"

Christine looked at him blankly a moment before her eyes cleared. "My English...I'm afraid, is quite poor, Erik."

"Then I shall have to teach you, but you are an exceptional student."

Christine smiled, "Only to an extraordinary teacher. Where in England shall we go?"

"Dover, to begin. I understand French is spoken there fluently due to the trade route. And...perhaps in time..." Erik grinned a little wickedly, "I hear that the London Royal Opera is in great need of a decent soprano."

Christine laughed, "Erik! You wouldn't."

"I most certainly would! You should not be long away from the stage, Christine."

She grinned, "Well, I will have to be for a while at least."

Erik sobered again. "Christine...is this life really what you wish?"

Once again, Christine drew his face into her hands. "How many times, in how many different ways, must I tell you 'yes?' I love you, Erik."

He closed his eyes briefly, relishing the sound of those words floating so beautifully on her musical voice. "And I love you, mon ange, but I am afraid we must wait until we are away from Paris before we can be wed."

Christine gasped a little, pulling back to search his eyes; the wary hopefulness in them betraying his confident demeanor. A playful smile began to flirt around her lips. "Have you just asked me to marry you?"

"If you will have me, Christine."

She smiled more fully. "Oh, I will certainly have you, Erik. You will never be free of me."

Her kiss was a passionate promise, and they very nearly surrendered to it, but this was not the time nor place for such intimate undertakings…the risk of discovery was ever present. Erik reluctantly set Christine away from him. "Go and speak with Pinot, my love. Tell him you will give him no more than two weeks. That should be sufficient time for our arrangements to be settled and farewells to be made. We will speak again tomorrow."

Disappointment flashed in her dark eyes. "Tomorrow, Erik? What of tonight?"

Erik smiled ruefully. "Tonight, we will for once be sensible." He kissed her hand. "Now go, mon ange. I will come to you tomorrow evening."

Christine nodded and kissed him quickly. "Be safe, my love." Then she opened the door, checked the hallway, and scurried away leaving Erik to slip out of the theater undetected.

When Christine gave her notice to Monsieur Pinot, he was not exactly pleased at losing her after so short a time. Yet he could not deny her, nor truly be angry, when she gently asked for his understanding of her desire for a fresh start. He was not losing her to another theater, so he smiled kindly, wished her well and told her she would always be welcome on his stage, should she ever decide to return to Paris.

Convincing him not to advertise her last performance as such took a bit more persuasion on Christine's part. '_Please, Monsieur,_' she'd said. _'I fear such publicity would bring questions I am not prepared to answer_.' Pinot had looked closely at the silent plea in the eyes of Mademoiselle Daae and relented, holding his own curiosity in silence.

A good mystery was, after all, his livelihood.

* * *

**A/N:** And so the fluff (or is it Phluff) begins. And hey--my reviews went over 100 and my hits are closing in on 5000--so I want you all to give yourselves a hug from poetzproblem. Thanks for reading. 


	21. In Promise

In Promise

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Christine retired to her room with a book in hand. It was a rare dark night for the Theatre Mystere, and she sought to occupy her mind with something whilst she awaited Erik's promised arrival. The words on the page could not seem to calm her nervous anticipation, or her fear. Fear because each time Erik ventured out from the safety of his underground world, he was placing himself in jeopardy. If someone were to see him…recognize him as the Phantom…he would surely be arrested…or worse. Even the thought of such a thing left her trembling in apprehension. Christine did not know what she would do were she to lose him now.

Even as the horrible thought flitted through her mind, she heard a scraping at her window. She looked towards the glass and saw a dark form suddenly looming on the other side. Her heart stopped a moment, and then began to race as the window wafted open and Erik dramatically swooped inside. Christine gasped, her book falling away as her hand flew over her heart. "Erik! How ever did you get up here?"

He grinned wickedly, drawing Christine up from the chair and into his arms. "I have tricks beyond any you can imagine, mon ange."

She shook her head with an exasperated sigh. "Your tricks are too dangerous, Erik. If someone had seen you…"

"No one will see me, Christine, and if someone should, they would certainly never speak of it."

Christine drew a quick breath and tore herself from his arms, turning her back to him. "You mustn't say that, Erik." That he could speak about such things so coldly still frightened her.

He expelled a harsh breath. "Why mustn't I, Christine? Would you not have me protect myself?"

She whirled back to him. "I will not have you kill again! There is no reason, Erik…you've nothing to gain by it and everything to lose." She reached for him then, fisting her hands against his cloak and pleading with him, "Promise me, Erik…promise me you will not take another life."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "And if I cannot promise you, Christine? Will you run from me again? Go back to your _boy_?"

Christine's grip slowly loosened and she took a step back, her wide brown eyes glistening with pain. "I will not leave you, Erik. I love you. I love the man you are, the man you can be, and it is _that_ man I have forgiven for the sins of the past. But I do not know that I could forgive you should you ever put our future at risk."

Erik looked past her to stare at the wall behind her, his face betraying nothing of what he was thinking.

How can I make her a promise I am not certain I can keep?

He was only half aware when Christine moved again, taking his hand in hers and placing it gently over her abdomen. She whispered, "For our future, Erik. Please…"

His hand flexed against her and he closed his eyes against the nearly overwhelming force in such a tiny gesture. Meeting her eyes again, he nodded slightly. "I…I will…try…Christine."

She held his gaze a moment longer, then she released his hand and cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you, angel."

He sighed, wondering how this little slip of a woman-child could come to have so much power over him. "Oh, Christine, what am I to do with you?"

She smiled then. "Love me, Erik. Only love me."

"Always." He brushed his lips over hers again, once, twice, and then her fingers tangled into his hair as she deepened the contact. The flame between them always seemed to ignite so easily, and Erik vaguely wondered if it would always be so.

Will I always feel this need to be closer to her…to have more of her?

Her bed stood just a few feet from them, and it would have been so easy to lay her down. Indeed, it seemed as though Christine was trying to gently urge him in that direction with the steady press of her body against his. His angel could be quite the temptress, but he was determined to develop some control where she was concerned.

For both our sakes.

Erik broke contact with her, setting her at arms length. Her eyes were glazed with passion and her breathing uneven, and she stared at him blankly a moment before her brows furrowed in confused frustration. "Erik, what is wrong?"

He chuckled a little, tracing an elegant finger over her flushed cheek. "Nothing is wrong, my love, but I did not come here to have my wicked way with you, as tempting a prospect as it is. We have matters to discuss."

God bless her, Christine actually groaned, "Now? Can it not wait until…after?"

Erik laughed outright then, and the sound was so beautiful that Christine almost didn't mind that he was laughing at her. "Mon ange, that it is precisely what we must discuss." He grew serious then. "As difficult as it will be to deny ourselves now, we really cannot take such chances, Christine. We will not be safe together until we are away from Paris, and even then we will need to be on our guard."

Christine nodded and sighed. "I know you are right, Erik. It isn't really safe for you to be here now, but perhaps we might be safer in your chambers…"

"No!" He cut her off adamantly. "You will not return to the catacombs, Christine. _That_ would not be safe for _you_…especially…now." His eyes fell automatically to her middle, and Christine could not help but feel a tingle of warmth at the action."I will come to you when I can, and we will steal a few precious moments."

"But…?"

"I will be careful, Christine. I have a future to think of now."

A beautiful smile curved Christine's mouth and lit her eyes. "I love you , Erik."

"And I you, mon ange."

Erik drew Christine back into his arms and they remained lost in their own world for quite awhile, speaking about what was to come. Enjoying the moment as they were, the soft knock at Christine's door startled them both. Erik tensed and moved toward the window even as Meg Giry's voice called out to her friend.

"Christine?"

Christine sighed in relief, then shot a look to Erik, whose hands were on the window. She frowned at him and shook her head, whispering harshly even as she moved towards the door. "You stay right here, Erik."

"Christine…?" Meg called again.

Eager for her friend to finally meet her love, Christine opened the door slowly, careful to make certain Meg was alone. Seeing that she was, Christine grinned and tugged at Meg's hand. "Come in quickly, Meg."

"What? Why…?" Seeing the Opera Ghost leaning nonchalantly against the wall by the window in amusement, the little ballerina suddenly lost her voice and stood frozen in shock.

Erik pushed away from the wall and closed the distance between them, bowing grandly and clasping the young lady's hand. "Mademoiselle Giry, at last we meet."

Meg drew a quick breath, her face beginning to color. "M-M-Monsieur..." She was struggling for a surname other than _le Fantome. _Or _Opera Ghost_. Instead she gave up with a shake of her head and settled for, "...Erik."

Erik offered her a genuine smile. "I must thank you for being such a dear friend to Christine all these years."

"I...well...of course. I sh-should leave you both to..." Meg blushed furiously. "well...do what you were doing."

Erik could not help but laugh at her sweetly flustered babbling. "There is no need, Mademoiselle. It is I who should take my leave before I am discovered by someone far less sympathetic. A pleasure to finally meet you, little Giry."

He turned to Christine and stroked a loving hand down her cheek. "Until tomorrow, mon ange." He bent to kiss her cheek rather chastely and disappeared out the window.

Meg hissed out a breath and rushed to the sill, seeing nothing in the shadows. "How does he do that?"

Christine laughed at the awe in her friend's voice. "He is quite talented."

Meg smiled at that. "I can only imagine."

This of course led to a discussion of all Erik's many talents, and Christine was proud to know that her friend had been more than a little impressed with the Phantom in the flesh.

* * *

**A/N: **I felt the need to touch on the the murder issue with the promise. That is the thing that frightens Christine the most about Erik, and while I think she can forgive him his past, I don't think she'd stand for him reverting to form again. And it was past time for Meg to get a proper introduction to Erik. 


	22. In Happiness

In Happiness

Christine hardly knew how to handle such utter contentment. Her life had been a torrent of tragedy for so long, she felt somewhat at a loss without it. She sat reclined in the chair in front of her window, her feet propped upon the window bench in a most unladylike way, enjoying the freedom of the afternoon. She laughed a little to herself, knowing that this current peacefulness wouldn't last forever. Yet the knowledge did not dampen her mood. She was currently high on the euphoria of love and passion and hope, enjoying the best of all possible worlds. Even the frustration she felt at only being able to steal little moments with Erik was made bearable by the fact that she had those moments at all. Soon she would no longer need to let him slink away into the night alone.

And I will finally have the pleasure of waking in his arms.

Yet as impatient as she was for the day when they would start their life together in earnest, she knew she would have to let go of a little piece of her heart to do it. Madame Giry and Meg, Paris, even her dear friend Raoul, would all have to be left behind. So she was basking in these strange moments out of time when she had everything she had ever dreamed of, if not precisely in the way she had dreamed.

Even now, Madame Giry and Erik had set things into motion for the future. Christine had wondered at first why Erik had allowed her to give two weeks to Monsieur Pinot at the Mystere when he clearly disapproved of her performing there, but it had soon become clear that he intended their departure from the city to coincide with a dark period at the Theatre Soliel. Meg and Madame would be able to travel as far as Chantilly to see Erik and Christine off…and Christine would have her 'family' with her when she wed. Christine had fallen just a little more deeply in love with Erik with that simple gesture.

He really did have so much beauty within him, as buried as it was beneath the pain he had endured. Too much of his pain had been inflicted by her own hands, and she wished she could go back and undo the past. Yet even if such a thing were possible, she doubted she would know where to begin. At what point had it all gone so wrong? She thought, at times, that perhaps it had been that moment when she had first ripped his mask away from him without his consent. Or perhaps it had been sooner than that. Raoul's return to her life? Or was it that very first time she had prayed to her father asking him to send the Angel of Music to her? Yet to change even one thing would have denied them both the journey to this place they were in now. As it seemed to do increasingly often as of late, Christine's hand came to rest over her belly and she smiled.

How could I ever wish to undo any of this?

The gentle knock at her door pulled her from her daydreams, and Madame Giry's muffled voice could be heard from the hallway. "Christine? Might I have a word, child?"

Christine straightened from her chair and opened the door to reveal Madame Giry in the threshold looking quite serious.

But then she always looks quite serious, does she not?

Still smiling, Christine bid her enter. "Of course, Madame. Do come in."

Antoinette Giry settled herself on the window bench with raised brow and stern demeanor, and Christine felt a flutter of apprehension. She sat immediately in the chair she had been in before and folded her hands nervously in her lap. A moment of very awkward silence passed between the women before Madame cleared her throat. "My dear, I must speak with you about...certain matters. Regarding your...life with Erik."

Christine frowned, wondering if Madame Giry had encountered some problem with her contacts. "Of course, Madame. What is it you wish to say?"

Antoinette Giry sighed. "I realize this likely comes a bit late, but it is necessary nonetheless. It concerns your...marital relations."

Christine blushed furiously and averted her eyes, feeling the sudden urge to escape this conversation. It was once thing to have spoken of such things to Meg, her dearest friend, her sister…but the thought of speaking to Madame Giry about it was just…awful. "Madame, I...have...read books. There is really no need for this..."

Antoinette cut her off sharply. "The need is long overdue, child. I am not unaware that you and Erik have already been intimate." Christine's blush deepened, and seeing this, Antoinette's voice softened considerably over her next words. "Nor am I blind to the ripening of your figure, Christine. I have seen enough of such matters to know that you are expecting."

Christine found herself momentarily speechless, and Madame Giry did not break the silence, but only continued to steadily watch as Christine cast her eyes to the floor. When Christine finally did speak, her voice sounded small. "Has it been so obvious?"

Antoinette smiled a little. "No, child. It is still early, yes?" Christine's eyes finally came up from the floor and she nodded. Antoinette continued, "But the signs are there, if one knows where to look, and you have been a daughter to me for far too long to be able to hide this."

Christine twisted her hands in her lap, her brown eyes wide and suddenly pensive. "Are you disappointed in me, Madame?"

Antoinette sighed. "No. I am proud of the woman you've become, Christine." Then concern deepened the lines of her face. "You know he will not find this easy."

Christine drew in a deep breath, nodding slowly. "I know, but he is...adjusting. As am I."

Antoinette raised a brow again. "But you have questions, no? And you've not been able to ask anyone, but you may ask me now, and I will prepare you as best I can."

A slow, grateful smile curved Christine's lips. She _had_ been longing to talk to someone about this, and she simply hadn't had the courage to speak with the doctor she'd seen about any more than the very basic facts of her health. "Thank you, Madame. I have so much I wish to know."

Madame Giry smiled and settled back to answer all of Christine's questions, and ask the girl some of her own. The conversation lasted quite some time, and Christine wavered between embarrassment, awe and utter fear. The reality of what was to come seemed to settle fully over her, and she nearly cried with relief when Madame ended with a promise that she should come if needed…even as far as England.

"Oh, Madame…will you really come?"

Antoinette smiled, clasping Christine's hand. "Of course, Christine. You will need your family at such a time…I know that I am not your mother…nor Erik's, but it feels as though you are both my children."

Christine swiped away a stray tear, laughing a little at the weeping mess they'd both become. "I do not think I can ever express to you how very grateful I am for everything you've done for me, Madame. You and Meg truly have been my family."

Antoinette squeezed Christine's hand, shaking off her own sentimental tears. "And we shall always be, Christine. No matter the distance between us."

Later, as the afternoon faded into memory, Christine sat with the two women who had played such important roles in her life…her _sister, _her _mother_…and she could not stop the sheen of tears from filling her eyes at the thought of being without them. But then she would think of Erik, and his child, and she could not regret her choices.

Only one regret remained in Christine's heart and mind, and she would be forced to face it when Raoul de Chagny came to call on her once again.

* * *

**A/N:** Can't get anything past Madame Giry...she and Christine were overdue for that little 'mother-daughter' chat. As you can see, our poor deluded Vicomte is back again. 


	23. In Friendship

In Friendship

Meg Giry was true to her promise to distract Raoul de Chagny from his continued romantic interests. The Vicomte called on Christine not four days after her reunion with Erik, and Madame Marseille, who ran the boarding house, proudly informed Christine and Meg of his presence. The older woman was clearly happy to have such a respectable man back in her establishment once again.

Christine looked worriedly at Meg. "Is it wrong of me to have hoped he wouldn't call on me again?"

Meg smiled sympathetically, "Do not worry, Christine. All will be well." The blond tucked her tongue in her cheek and added, "As long as you do not accept any more marriage proposals."

Christine huffed, "Really, Meg! You are hardly helping."

Meg laughed a little and gave her friend's hand a quick squeeze. "Then let me go down and keep him company whilst you make yourself less attractive to him."

Christine couldn't help giggling. "Perhaps we should have saved one of La Carlotta's dresses from the Opera."

Meg joined Christine in laughter. "Good riddance to those hideous things."

"Meg, you really should not speak of Carlotta and her dog in such a way."

Meg pressed a hand over her mouth to reign in her laughter. "Christine! Such a wicked woman you've become."

Christine sobered just a little. "You have no idea, Meg."

Meg took a deep calming breath, and nodded to Christine before making her way down the stairs, leaving Christine alone to think about the pain she had caused to poor Raoul. She feared she was about to hurt him even more.

Christine waited several moments before she made her way down to join Meg and Raoul. As she approached the parlor, she heard the sound of laughter echoing into the hall. Her eyes widened in mild surprise and she entered the room to the sight of Raoul and Meg sitting across from one another in obvious enjoyment of some folly or another. For a brief moment, she was able to take in the look of contented relaxation upon Raoul's handsome face, but all too quickly his eyes found her and he seemed to suddenly tense. He straightened and stood to greet her with a slight bow and a kiss on her hand. "Christine, you look radiant."

Christine colored at his compliment, and smiled at him, and then at Meg. "What have you both been speaking of with such enjoyment?"

Meg grinned a little. "Only life upon the wicked stage."

Christine arched an eyebrow, wondering which of Meg's wicked stories she had been telling Raoul. Whatever it had been, he had certainly seemed to be enjoying it. Christine was glad, as that would make her plan to keep Raoul at a polite distance so much easier. "Well, I am glad to see my two dear friends are getting on so well, because I would like for us all to have lunch together today. That is, if you would care to eat with us, Raoul."

A flicker of surprise seemed to pass over Raoul's face, but then he smiled happily. "I can think of nothing that would please me more than dining with two beautiful ladies."

Christine noticed his eyes briefly drift away from her and over to Meg, who was blushing a little. _How...odd_, she thought.

The three of them sat together for a light lunch from Madame Marseille's kitchen, and Raoul resumed discussion of the wicked stage. "I am actually quite glad to have the opportunity to speak with you both about some news that has come to my attention. It seems that the Opera Populaire is to be renovated and reopened."

Christine gasped, thinking immediately of Erik, and wondering if he knew of this. She noticed Raoul watching her intently, but before she could think of what to say to cover her wayward thoughts, Meg broke the silence. "Have Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin not gone back to their junk business?"

"Scrap metal." Raoul muttered automatically, then grinned along with Meg. Christine smiled as well, so grateful for Meg's quick mind and easy humor. Raoul continued on, "They have indeed washed their hands entirely of the theater. A Monsieur Ranier has purchased the building and plans to rebuild."

Christine wondered, "Is that possible?"

"The engineers seem to believe that the structure is still sound. Of course, the entire stage and auditorium must be replaced, and there is a great deal of fire and water damage to the interior. But Monsieur Ranier feels it is a worthy venture."

He smiled first at Meg, then Christine, though his cheerfulness seemed a little forced on this subject. "Perhaps you shall both be able to reclaim your former positions before long."

Christine felt herself pale slightly, and her hand drifted up to her abdomen. She knew that she would never sing at the Opera Populaire again, for so many reasons, but, oh, how she wished that she could.

Meg, sensing the sudden tension, cleared her throat and addressed Raoul. "And will your family continue as patrons, Monsieur le Vicomte."

Raoul looked pointedly at Meg, a strange little frown on his face. Then he shook his head a little and smiled. "Ranier has already solicited me. Understandably, I am still undecided."

"Understandably." Christine echoed absently, her mind still replaying her memories of the Opera. And thinking of Erik.

The table grew silent until Meg forced the conversation to a more carefree subject. "Tell me, sir. What news have you of the high society? I simply adore good gossip."

Christine's gaze shot to Meg, and she saw the mischievous twinkle in her friend's eyes. Le Vicomte de Chagny could not be used to such behavior from ladies. Indeed, he was staring at Meg in open mouthed shock, and Christine tried and failed to smother a laugh. Then, to Christine's utter amazement, Raoul joined in their laughter before proving himself rather fond of gossip as well.

All in all, the visit had gone very well after the initial awkwardness, thanks greatly to the ease with which Meg and Raoul had seemed to converse, a fact that Christine mentioned after Raoul had taken his leave. "Oh, I cannot thank you enough for this, Meg. Today went better than I had expected, and it is all thanks to you. I cannot believe how well you and Raoul seem to get on."

Meg looked away, smiling a little oddly before meeting Christine's eyes with a sudden intensity. "Christine…I must confess something to you, and I hope that you will not think ill of me. I…had spoken with Raoul on several occasions before today. Only little conversations, really, nothing of consequence…but I fear that it might have been something I said that led him to court you again."

Christine started, frowning slightly at her friend's pleading eyes. "Meg, whatever do you mean? What could you have said?"

Meg looked briefly away in guilt before answering. "I…rather chastised him for not granting you the time you'd asked him for all those weeks ago. I am so sorry, Christine. I only meant to make him see how unfair he had been. I knew your feelings for Erik, though you'd not yet found your way back to one another. I should have kept my mouth shut and let it be."

Christine shook her head, trying to imagine what Raoul must have thought to be scolded by Meg. The image was rather amusing really. Perhaps Erik's strange humor was beginning to rub off on her. She smiled and clasped Meg's hand, seeking to ease her friend's mind. "Raoul's feelings for me, whatever they may be, are not your doing, Meg. He would not have seen me again if he hadn't wished to, and now I must hurt him a second time." Christine paused, feeling the familiar guilt settle over her again. "Perhaps I should simply tell him that I am leaving Paris."

Meg sighed, "You know he will ask you for an explanation, or to know where you are going. If you must lie to him regardless, Christine, perhaps a lie of omission is best."

A lie of omission. How many of those have altered my life thus far?

Christine could only pray that this lie would not come back to haunt her.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, dear Raoul is still lingering, and poor Meg feels at fault because of her meddling. Those of you who read _Little Conversations_ will recognize the middle of this scene - although told from Christine's perspective here. It kind of tied the stories together for me. You can probably guess that Erik won't be overjoyed to find out Raoul is still a part of Christine's life. He's making progress, but he still has those issues. 


	24. In Doubt

**In Doubt**

You are a blasted fool, Erik!

Tonight was not the first time he had cursed himself in such a way as he slipped in and out of shadows in the Paris streets. He had rebuked himself often these past months for being unable to let go of his obsession, but now there was a different reason to his self-reproach. Christine would surely have whatever would be left of his hide if he ended up being discovered now. Never before had it seemed to matter so, but never before had he so much to lose.

You had to make that damned promise to her. Now it will be your own blood if you are discovered. Or risk her turning from you forever.

Neither of those options was very attractive to Erik. The smart thing to do, of course, would be to keep himself hidden away until he and Christine departed Paris, but just as he had more to lose now, he also had more reason than ever to steal these moments with her. In all his years of silent stalking, he had never realized how wondrous it would be to step from the shadows into a pair of warm, waiting arms.

Of course, that would not be happening tonight if he failed to arrive safely at the boarding house. Was it his imagination, or were the streets exceptionally crowded this evening?

She's made you soft, Erik. You are losing you touch.

He scoffed at the wayward thought. He certainly was _not _losing his touch. He was only thinking far too much about consequences...something that had never bothered him before. In truth, it was only Christine that made him think of such things now. His fingers had been itching to hold a rope for weeks.

Erik eyed the Marseille House cautiously from the side street, waiting for just the right moment to make his way up the trellis. The climb was effortless, and Christine's window was easy enough to reach. He used one of his many tricks to open the latch from outside and swing the shutters open. The room was dark, as he'd known it would be. Christine would not return from the Theatre Mystere for another fifteen minutes at least, so he settled himself in to wait for his love.

Christine did not leave him waiting long. She arrived home precisely on schedule and feeling mildly disappointed that she had not yet seen Erik lurking in any corners. Disappointment turned to anticipation as she stopped in front of her room. _He is here. _It seemed so very strange that she should be able to know he was near with such certainty now, yet she did. Even as she opened the door, she whispered his name into the darkness.

"Erik?"

She heard the low chuckle from beside her, and the door was pushed shut while she was backed gently into it. Her little intake of breath was followed swiftly by the softness of Erik's lips against hers. The cloak of night surrounding them made the action sensually erotic, and Christine melted into her lover instinctively. She felt the tickle of his breath against her mouth as he whispered, "Mon ange."

Christine tried to draw him back, but he evaded, leaving her feeling bereft. She closed her eyes and tried to will her body back under control. Erik lit the lamp and turned back to Christine, who was still leaning against the door with a pleased little smile curving her lips. "You did not come to the theater tonight, Erik."

He raised a brow. "Did you miss me?"

She pushed away from the door with that tempting smile and stood before him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I miss you every moment we are apart, my love."

"It will not be long before we need never be parted again, Christine." A cloud passed over his eyes. "I only wish our union did not require me to take you away from Paris."

"I will be happy wherever _you _are, Erik."

He grunted, "I hardly think you would have been happy in the cellars of my Opera House."

Christine arched a delicate brow. "I hardly think _you _were ever truly happy there, angel."

Erik regarded her a moment. "I was in those brief moments that we shared, mon ange."

She smiled in pleasure and burrowed into his chest. "Now we will have countless moments to share."

Erik held Christine to him, still wondering if this was all a dream. Surely Fate could not suddenly be smiling on him in this way. "I wish we could have shared them at my Opera House, Christine. You were meant for that stage." And he had placed her there so perfectly until that damn boy had interfered.

Without even lifting her head from his chest, Christine murmured absently, "I have heard that the Opera is to be renovated."

Erik drew back to glance down at Christine in mild surprise. Of course he had known of the sale of his Opera, but he hadn't realized word of it was already being spread. "And who did you hear that from, my dear?"

Christine looked up at him, her eyes wide and her face slightly flushed, and Erik began to think that perhaps Fate was about to deal him another blow.

"Raoul."

At the mention of le Vicomte's name, Erik's entire body went rigid; his eyes darkening dangerously. He wrenched himself away to pace to the other side of the room, not trusting himself to be near Christine just then.

The damned fop! Always interfering! I should have killed him!

Erik's hands clenched into fists as he attempted to control his rage. "So you are seeing him again, Christine! After you have sworn yourself to me!"

Christine steeled herself against his temper. She had debated the wisdom of telling Erik this at all, but secrets between them had been the cause of so much misery already. She knew that if she was to be his wife, she must be prepared to deal with his unpredictable moods. "I am not _seeing _him, Erik. He…he called on me again of his own accord. We shared an innocent lunch, and Meg did not leave us alone for a moment."

Erik felt a certain fondness for Meg, as he would have simply for her importance to both Christine and Madame Giry, but his anger ebbed only slightly. "Meg should not have to run interference for your would-be suitor, Christine! He should not be anywhere near you now!" Erik stalked towards her, closing his hands around her upper arms and forcefully pulling her to him. "You are mine." His grip on her was unrelenting, but thankfully, not painful.

Christine closed her eyes briefly, searching for her patience.

Will Erik ever feel secure in my love? And can I really blame him if he does not, after what I did to him before?

She leveled her dark gaze on his, willing him to see the truth in her eyes. "Yes, Erik. I am yours. Always."

Erik's eyes barely softened. "Then why? Why do you still accept his fawning adoration?"

She trembled slightly under his hard stare, "I…I do not mean to, Erik. I've told Raoul that I cannot give him the love he hopes for from me, but you must understand, I do still care for him." At the tightening of his hold on her, Christine rushed to add, "In friendship only, Erik."

His eyes flashed again and he growled, "Your _friend_ nearly took you away from me once, Christine. I will not allow him another opportunity."

"And neither will I, Erik! I love you, but I will not give Raoul cause to suspect my return to you. He would not understand. He would think me under your spell again and we would surely be parted. Please, my love, you must trust me. Trust my love for you."

Erik released his hold on her arms and turned his face away, wanting nothing more than to allow her words to appease his jealousy, but he feared the boy would always be a blade to his heart. Christine determinedly reached up and turned Erik's face back, bringing his mouth down to meet hers in a gentle kiss. Erik's hands fisted against his sides as passion began to swirl around them, just as it always did.

Erik tore his mouth from hers and determinedly set her away from him. "Christine…you will not always be able to bend me to your will with a kiss."

She smiled at him softly, stroking her fingers across his jaw. "We shall see, angel, we shall see."

* * *

**A/N: **A little more angst. 


	25. In Jealousy

In Jealousy

Every pair of eyes in Le Monde was stealing glances at le Vicomte de Chagny, who sat dining with not one, but two beautiful young ladies. That one of those ladies was his former fiancée, the infamous Christine Daae, had sent a quiet buzz floating through the restaurant. Christine had grown used to such looks from those who had recognized her in these past months, but poor Raoul was clearly uncomfortable. She could only wonder if Meg's presence as chaperone was earning them more or less attention than they would have otherwise received.

Raoul had called on Christine with the clear hope of seeing her alone, yet he had not been terribly resistant to her insisted inclusion of Meg. Christine suspected that he was putting forth his best effort to refrain from pressuring her for more than friendship, but it was obvious that he was hoping to gently remind her of the love they had once shared. Her guilt at allowing him this hope was weighing heavily upon her, and she suspected Meg felt no better at participating in this carefully choreographed dance around the truth. As much as Christine would trust Raoul with her life, she could not trust him with Erik's.

She wished she could simply tell Raoul of her plans to soon leave Paris without worrying that he would question her incessantly, or attempt to learn her destination in the hope of keeping in touch. Yet she felt a great deal of relief from having learned Raoul would himself be away from Paris on business for a time. Their farewells today would be final, though Raoul did not know it.

He was endeavoring to be his usual charming, affable self, and he and Meg were once again engaging in some rather entertaining banter. Christine was truly amazed by this, as Raoul had been ever serious and rather...reserved in all of his conversations with her. To be fair, she supposed the events of the past months had more than a little to do with that. Neither of them had been able to find much joy in little moments like this. Christine truly hoped Raoul would be able to find the happiness she could never give him, as she had found hers in Erik.

xXx

Across the street from Le Monde, perched upon the roof of the opposite building, was the dark figure of the former Opera Ghost. Erik glared at the façade of the café, wondering just how long this damned dinner would go on. He had been at the Marseille House when the boy had arrived, and watched Christine scurry off with him. Neither the presence of Little Giry on their outing, nor Christine's constant reassurances were enough to dispel his jealousy at seeing the Vicomte still pursuing his angel.

Foolish fop! I'd string you up if not for her.

Erik jumped back from the ledge, pacing once again to burn off his anger. Only a few more days, and he'd never have to look at the fool again. He could certainly keep his temper in check until then. He certainly was _not _plotting de Chagny's demise.

_No, certainly not._

There is no need.

Christine is mine. She loves me. She chose me.

Yet she was dining with her _Vicomte_ while Erik watched from the shadows once again.

xXx

Raoul was perfectly content to sit and listen to Meg and Christine happily chat about their childhood memories. It seemed a lifetime since Christine had seemed so at ease. Perhaps it had been. Their time apart had certainly matured her greatly. He so wanted the chance to discover this new strength in her, and he wondered why she seemed so resistant.

Perhaps she thinks I would suffocate her once again.

He grimaced slightly...suffocation was not one of his favorite subjects. He truly hated knowing that he had made her feel...how had she phrased it?..._a bird in a gilded cage. _Perhaps he _had_ sheltered her a bit too much. He would not make that mistake again. Raoul had offered Christine his continued friendship, and he was confident that she would rediscover her love for him in time.

His eyes strayed from Christine to Meg Giry. He had truly begun to count the utterly charming ballerina as a friend, which was greatly the reason why he had not protested having her as a chaperone. For he knew her to be precisely that. Christine was keeping a careful, pious distance between them, but Meg's endless good spirit and friendly manner seemed somehow to lessen the sting of that action.

Even as he thought this, the waiter made yet another appearance at the table to offer more wine, the young man's eyes lingering on Meg perhaps a little longer, and certainly a little lower, than was respectable. Raoul glared at the boy in annoyance, thinking him very ungentlemanly indeed. "That will be all, Jacques. You may bring me the check."

Jacques nodded, "Ouí, Monsieur." Then he flashed a smile at Meg. "Mademoiselle, are you certain there is nothing else that you require."

Meg smiled warmly, "No, Jacques. It was a wonderful meal, thank you."

Christine raised a brow at being rather blatantly ignored by the waiter, but flashed Meg a mischievous grin as soon as Jacques had gone. "I think he likes you, Meg."

She grinned back. "He _was_ a bit obvious about it, wasn't he?"

Raoul scoffed, "I found him very rude."

Both women looked at him strangely, then back to one another. Christine lowered her head slightly and mock whispered to Meg, "But awfully handsome."

Meg laughingly replied, "You thought so, too?"

Raoul scowled at them both, feeling a strange tingle of jealousy at their admiration of that _boy_. Sometimes he wondered if he would ever understand the female of the species.

xXx

Erik had abandoned stalking Christine sometime before dessert had arrived, and had started back towards the Opera House. His fingers were playing with the rope tucked under his cloak. The de Chagny manor was not very far from where he was now. The boy would never even know he was there, one twist and it would be over.

Over…yes…

Christine will never see you again.

Damn.

Unfortunately, his foul mood had made him more careless than usual…or perhaps it had been that damned streak of humanity that Christine had awakened. Regardless, he had been moving in the shadows of the back alleys when a muffled scream caught his attention. His entire body stilled, coiled at the ready, as he turned his head in the direction of the noise. In the shadow, he saw the outline of a man pressing a smaller form against the wall. As Erik's eyes sharpened, he saw that the smaller form was a woman, and she was struggling. His ears picked up harshly whispered threats over the grunts and groans of the man. _'Shut up…little whore…quiet and I might let you live…'_

Mere weeks ago, Erik would have likely ignored the scene and been on his way, but now the sight of such a thing focused the aimless rage within him. He moved quickly, his lasso tight around the man's throat in a flash. One good hard tug and he would have snapped the scoundrel's neck, but Erik lingered over the task, savoring the sweet joy of feeling his victim weaken and gasp for breath. His eyes closed in pleasure and his lips tilted upward, and for a brief moment, he imagined it was the Vicomte whose life he held in his hands. Then his promise to Christine rang in his ears. Hissing out a frustrated breath, Erik loosened the rope and brought his closed fist down against the back of the man's head, letting the body crumple limply to the ground.

The woman who'd been attacked had slipped down the wall in hysterical sobs as soon as the bastard's grip on her had loosened, and now she looked up at Erik with wide fearful eyes. She was just a little slip of a thing, thin and unkempt and terrible young. Most likely a prostitute. Erik knelt in front of her, feeling the man's throat for a pulse, only hoping to feel one for the sake of his promise.

Her raspy, frightened voice asked, "Is…is he…dead?"

Erik sighed, "He lives. You will likely want to be far from here when he awakens."

When he raised his face to look at the woman again, he saw her eyes grow even wider and her face pale slightly. "You…you're _him_…the Phantom…"

Erik tensed and stood quickly, glowering over her trembling form with hands closed into fists around his lasso. He could slip it around her throat and...

_No! No!_

Hastily spinning around, he darted back down the alley. He heard her voice call out from behind him to wait, but he couldn't stop. He moved as if the Hounds of Hell were at his heels, and only when he reached the safety of his dark dungeon did he sink down the wall and feel their teeth close around his throat.

Damn. Damn. Damn. What have you done? They'll come for you now! They will hang you for your crimes. You will never see Christine again…never see your child…

A wrenching sob was torn from him as he thought of the future that had nearly been his.

So close…I was so close…

* * *

**A/N:** What will become of Erik now?


	26. In Apprehension

**In Apprehension**

Christine was trembling and she did not know why. The previous evening's supper with Raoul had been pleasant enough, and he had amiably bid her adieu and chastely kissed her cheek before leaving. Certainly, she had felt ashamed when he had promised to call on her in a week or two when his business concluded. She very well knew she would no longer be in Paris then, yet that was not why she trembled.

Erik.

Christine had seen him last evening only for the briefest moment, before Madame Marseille had announced Raoul presence, and Christine had been forced to leave him in his dark mood. She'd asked him again to trust her, but she knew that he'd followed them to Le Monde. She had expected to see him again upon her return home, yet she had not.

Something is wrong.

The feeling seemed every moment to become more pronounced, aided by Erik's continued absence from her tonight. She had expected him at the Theatre Mystere on this, the night of her final performance, yet he had not come and the feeling of foreboding had intensified. And so she trembled.

Even as Christine's foot crossed the threshold of the boarding house, Madame Marseille began to flutter around nervously. Only one word in the older woman's flurry of speech registered before darkness ascended to engulf Christine.

_Police._

xXx

Christine awoke to the feel of a cool, damp compress at her forehead. She opened her eyes slowly to see Madame Giry frowning with concern.

"Are you well, child?" Christine struggled to sit, only to be pressed back down by Madame. "Easy, Christine. I would not have you faint again."

Christine closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I…I am alright, Madame."

"I am most pleased to hear that, Mademoiselle Daae." The masculine voice invaded Christine's fogged mind. Christine felt Madame Giry tense, and she turned her head to see the burly form of Inspector Pierre Bordeaux . Christine had met the man once before, soon after her return to Paris. He had questioned her about the ordeal at the Opera Populaire and her association with the Phantom. At the time, she had been able to satisfy him with half truths and some fine acting.

_'No, the Phantom has made no attempt to see me since my return.' _She had been the one to seek him out, and Erik had pushed her away.

_'No, I have not noticed anything unusual, but I will certainly inform the authorities if I should.' _But her entire life had been so tied to Erik's, the unusual had become the usual.

Seeing the inspector here now caused Christine's trembling to double. She could feel panic beginning to overtake her. Madame Giry must have sensed her distress because the older woman grabbed Christine's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Inspector, Mademoiselle Daae has been recently ill and is still recovering, though she insists on not missing any of her performances. Perhaps you might give her a moment to collect herself before you speak with her."

Bordeaux furrowed his brows slightly, but nodded in assent and stepped into the foyer. It was only then that Christine saw Meg in the parlor as well, cautiously watching the Inspector's retreat.

Christine's voice cracked slightly, "Madame…?"

"Hush, child." She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "As far as I know, he is safe. You must stay calm, Christine." Christine nodded mutely, and Antoinette's eyes softened in concern. "Are you certain you are alright?"

Christine closed her eyes briefly. Her heart was in her throat and she felt ready to fall apart at any moment. Her hand drifted absently to her abdomen, seeking to draw comfort from the life that slept there. Opening her eyes again, she drew a steadying breath. "Yes." She sat up slowly, glad when the room did not tilt before her. "S-show him back in."

Antoinette nodded to Meg, who went and fetched Bordeaux. When he came back into the room, Meg moved to stand behind her mother and Christine who both sat upon the sofa. The man nodded to the three ladies, "Mademoiselles, Madame, I apologize for this unexpected intrusion at so late an hour. I assure you my business will be brief."

Christine opened her mouth to reply, mildly surprised to find that her voice did not tremble as the rest of her did. "Please Inspector, what might we do for you?"

He smiled slightly. "I am afraid I have to broach the unpleasant subject of the Phantom once again." Christine painfully gripped the edge of the sofa, but the Inspector seemed not to notice. "I trust that none of you have been troubled by the fiend since last we spoke?"

Madame Giry spoke then, and Christine could not fathom how the woman's voice could remain so maddeningly even. "Of course not, Inspector. The Phantom is dead."

"Mm. Possibly, but there has been a report made to my department that may suggest otherwise. It seems that there was an attack in a side alley near Rue Scribe last evening. A…gentleman…claims to have been nearly strangled with a rope and left for dead. The burn around his throat seems to indicate that his story is true. He is insisting it was the Phantom who attacked him, though he has admitted that he did not clearly see the culprit."

"It was not the Phantom, Monsieur."

Bordeaux studied Christine, who had uttered the simple statement with such determined certainty. "Why do you say that, Mademoiselle?"

She met his gaze without flinching. "Because the gentleman is still alive, Inspector."

Bordeaux actually chuckled at that. "Yes…I had rather thought that myself, Mademoiselle. But, you understand, we must take such reports very seriously. We have, of course, performed another periphery search of the catacombs, and are even now in the process of conducting interviews with certain…_citizens_… who may have been in the area last evening and witnessed the crime. I truly do apologize for dredging this up again, but you understand that I must pursue every lead. If the Phantom truly is haunting Paris again, you may not be safe, Mademoiselle Daae. I am certainly glad you have thus far seen no sign of him, but I urge you again to contact me at once if you should notice anything…even a shadow."

Christine could not tear her eyes away from the floor, certain that her face would betray the turmoil that was assaulting her. She was only vaguely aware of Meg moving towards the Inspector and reassuring him, "We certainly shall, Inspector Bordeaux. Thank you so much for informing us of this."

"Of course, Mademoiselle, of course."

As soon as the two left the room, Christine broke down in sobs, her entire form crumpling on the sofa.

Erik. Oh, God, Erik…Where are you? What has happened?

She felt herself immediately enveloped in Madame Giry's arms. "Calm yourself, Christine."

"I must see him…I must go to him…he hasn't come tonight…oh, Madame…I cannot lose him now…I cannot…"

In the midst of this, Meg had rushed silently back into the parlor and knelt before her friend, clasping Christine's hand as her mother gently wiped a tear streaked cheek. Madame soothed the girl as best she could, "Hush, now…you will do him no good in this state. You must try to rest awhile. We will seek him out tomorrow."

Christine shook her head in refusal. "No, no…I must go to him now…please Madame…I…I feel that he needs me…"

"Think, Christine! The police are looking for him again. You would only be placing yourself in danger...and Erik, as well. They will not find him, child. He is very adept at self preservation."

Christine knew that Madame Giry was right. She could not seek him out tonight, but she was terrified for him. If he had truly attacked that man…

Meg gently squeezed Christine's hand. "I am certain he is alright, Christine. He surely would not have attacked anyone without reason."

Christine closed her eyes again and prayed.

_God, please, do not let him have slipped back into the darkness without me._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** Looks like the man from the alley blew the whistle. I hope to supply my usual daily updates in the coming few days--but being labor day weekend--I may miss a day or two. I'll try to get one up tomorrow at least, as not to leave you all hanging with too much angst.


	27. In Discovery

In Discovery

Christine had been certain she would not know a moment of sleep in her fear for Erik. Indeed, she had laid awake in the darkness for hours envisioning the worst, terrified that the morning would bring headlines of the Phantom's capture or…death. Yet her mind could not entirely overcome the exhaustion of her body, and eventually she did fall into a fitful sleep.

The morning, thankfully, did not bring any bad news. In fact, it brought no news at all. There were no headlines in _L'Epoque_ that even mentioned the Phantom of the Opera and Madame Giry took this as a good sign. She could sense Christine's impatience and knew she would not again be able to hold the girl back from her search for Erik.

Once again, the older woman had accompanied Christine towards the catacombs. There had been several police visible on patrol around the Opera House, and Christine's anxiety had doubled. Antoinette had attempted to calm her, but in truth, she'd been worried herself, wondering how to go about entering the tunnels without being discovered. There was an entrance at Rue Canal behind a little bookstore which she had used shortly after the fire, and she decided it would be their best chance. Both ladies took great care to make certain they had not been followed.

Thankfully, Rue Canal had been free of any police observation, and they felt confident that their venture was not bringing any immediate danger to Erik. Still, their progress through the darkness was careful, neither being entirely certain what, or whom, they would find in the passageways. There was no telling where Erik might be, or what blackness had consumed him once again. Each step caused Christine's heart to speed.

I cannot feel him here. Why can I not feel him?

It felt as though they'd been wandering the labyrinth for hours before reaching Erik's hidden chamber, and as soon as they drew near, Christine felt the familiar tingle in her blood. She stilled in the passageway, and before she could stop herself, she let his name fall from her lips in a hopeful whisper. "Erik?" She turned to see a movement in the shadows, and was at once racing towards it. Madame Giry had turned as well, and was relieved to see Erik stepping from the darkness as Christine flew into his arms, clutching him tightly and sobbing. "Erik, oh Erik…you're alright…"

He stood stiffly in the circle of her arms, his eyes moving beyond her towards Madame Giry. When he spoke, his voice was cold, "You should not have brought her here, Madame."

Antoinette had stepped closer to the couple, and keeping her voice low, she told him, "I could not have kept her away."

Christine, having finally gathered herself together, pulled away from Erik just enough to level her gaze on his drawn face. He looked terrible, his eyes dull and his hair uncombed, little tuffs sticking out at odd angles. His white shirt was wrinkled and stained with dirt, hanging un-tucked from his trousers with the top buttons opened to expose his pale chest. Yet even in this state he was a welcome sight to Christine. "Tell me what has happened, Erik."

He averted his eyes. "Not here. They might be back."

"The police?" Antoinette asked.

Erik nodded curtly and pulled Christine's arms away from him, and without another word he walked away from them. The action stunned Christine for a moment, and she struggled to make her feet move to follow. Erik had already tripped the panel and disappeared through the wall when Christine and Madame finally came upon the opening of the chamber.

Christine paused a moment before crossing the threshold. She turned to Madame Giry with a strength of purpose in her eyes. "Madame, perhaps I should speak with him alone."

Antoinette frowned and shook her head. "I am afraid he may not be in the best state of mind, child."

"Please, Madame. I will be alright now. You should go back. Perhaps you might hear some…news about the investigation." Reluctantly, Antoinette nodded in assent, but waited before she turned to leave until Christine disappeared through the doorway and the wall slid back into place once more.

The moment she was inside, Christine let out a tiny little gasp as she took in the state of the room she stood within. The desk was tipped over and papers strewn across the floor. The wooden chair had been smashed and lay splintered as a victim of Erik's rage.

"Madame Giry?"

Christine turned to look at Erik, who stood pressed against the far wall watching her warily. "She has gone back up."

He made no reply, only stood silent and unmoving against the wall with eyes dull and lifeless. Christine found herself once again rushing forward and falling into his arms, needing to touch him and know that he was well. His arms remained at his sides, his entire posture rigid and unmoving. "You should not be here, Christine. They are hunting me again. I've ruined it. Ruined our chance of ever escaping."

Christine looked at him sharply, taking his face in her hands. "No, Erik! You have ruined nothing. This will pass."

Erik roughly drew her hands from his face, a trace of madness creeping into his eyes. "I was dead, Christine. A ghost. No one sees a ghost. But I have been seen. I have been seen and named and they know I am alive. If I am alive, they can find me. They will hang me for what I have done." His tone was cold and deadly, "Unless I strike first…"

Christine fisted her hands into his shirt and tried to shake him. "Stop it! Do not say that! They will not find you, Erik. I will not let them."

He pried her hands away with a maniacal laugh, the chilling sound sending a shiver through Christine. His eyes flashed and his voice grew harsh and accusing, "_You_ will not let them? _You! _Little Christine Daae? Do you really think yourself with any power in this?"

His cruel words seemed to snap something within her, and she pushed against his chest with all her strength, pressing him to the wall. Her own eyes flashed in anger. "I have all the power that _you_ have given me, Erik. _Your chains belong to me! _I will not let you go! I will not lose you to your black despair! We _will_ leave Paris together and we _will_ be safe and happy, you damn fool!"

Erik stood leaning against the wall, staring at Christine in utter astonishment. Her anger was truly a sight to behold. Her eyes were bright and wild, her cheeks flushed pink and her chest heaving with the force of her breath. She had never looked more beautiful to him. A short laugh escaped him, "Are you certain there is nothing else you wish to add to that lovely rant, mon ange?"

All at once, Christine's anger drained away and she was wrapping her arms around him again, trembling against his chest as her tears bathed his shirt. "Oh, Erik, please…do not give up on us now. Please…can we not just leave Paris tomorrow as we planned?"

He closed his eyes and sighed, enveloping her in his embrace. "You…you must know what I've done…"

She raised her eyes to his. "I know a man was…attacked. But he is alive, Erik. You haven't broken your promise to me."

Erik shook his head, "I wanted to. It would have been so easy, Christine. So easy."

Christine took a deep breath, nodding slightly. "Why…why did you…?"

"He was…attacking a woman…a prostitute, I think…and I…I wanted to kill him, Christine. I wanted to kill…someone…and he was there…convenient. A perfect victim."

There was a note of desperate longing in his voice that told Christine his bloodlust was far from sated. She drew a steadying breath, "But you didn't kill him, Erik. You stopped yourself."

"A dog on a leash, my dear, but when the leash comes off…"

Christine met his eyes evenly. "Dogs can be trained, Erik. With love and patience and understanding."

Erik's eyes filled with an odd sort of humor, "Mon ange, I realize that I am ever a dog at your feet, but perhaps we should end the metaphor before you have me sitting up to beg."

Christine could not keep herself from laughing a little through her tears. After all the uncertainty and worry of the past two days, it felt so good just to be near him again. She pressed her lips to his throat, tasting the salt of his skin. Then she drew his face to hers and kissed him, whispering against his lips, "I certainly _shall_ have you begging, angel."

Erik closed his eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips as he let Christine weave her fairytale around him, if only for a short while. He knew this moment would soon pass, and they would be left to face the cold reality that awaited them outside of this chamber. The promise he'd made her was certain to be broken should he be discovered.

* * *

**A/N:** There...no cliffie. Our couple is only a day away from leaving Paris. Will the police be a problem at this late date...? Until the next installment. Happy Labor Day. 


	28. In Deliverance

In Deliverance

Of all the actresses to pass through the doors of the Opera Populaire, perhaps there was none so fine as Madame Antoinette Giry. Certainly she possessed a stern disapproving façade which often masked the tenderness in her heart, yet it was the countless years of secrets which had perfected her talent for deception and pretense. It was this talent she called upon during her visit to Inspector Bordeaux at the police station.

"Madame Giry, I hope that all is well. You have not had any unfortunate encounters since I left you last evening?"

"No, no, Inspector. We are all quite well, but I am certain you will understand that your visit did cause quite a bit of discomfort for myself, my daughter and, most especially, Mademoiselle Daae. Which is why I am hoping you might be able to offer me some update that could ease our minds."

The gentleman pursed his lips before nodding slightly. "Indeed, some additional information has come to light during the interviews we conducted last evening, Madame. Although I must take care to warn you that the source of this new report does lack some credibility due to her unfortunate occupation, if you understand my meaning."

Antoinette colored a little, but replied, "Yes, Inspector."

He cleared his throat and continued. "Well, there is a…_lady_…who claims to be witness to the attack. Indeed, she claims that the victim was in the process of assaulting her when another gentleman happened by and interceded. Of course, the victim denies this story, but it does seem to cast some doubt on his honor, such as it is. The woman also claims that, while she did not recognize the gentleman who rescued her, he certainly could not have been the Phantom." The Inspector paused and chuckled a little. "Says he was a _right handsome fellow_. That description would seem to count out our infamous Opera Ghost."

Antoinette let out a visible sigh of relief at this. "Then we have nothing to fear."

Inspector Bordeaux smiled warmly. "I think you shall be safe. The investigation is still ongoing, of course, and we will continue to take any reports very seriously, but I see no immediate cause for concern, Madame. I am very sorry that I even had to trouble you, but it is best to be forewarned in cases such as this."

She nodded in approval. "Yes, yes, of course. I thank you for you diligence in this, Inspector."

Bordeaux stood to escort Madame Giry out of his office. "You are most welcome, Madame. Do not hesitate to come to me with any information or concerns in this case."

Antoinette left the station house with a much lighter step than she had entered. The threat of discovery had not entirely passed, but Inspector Bordeaux clearly seemed to believe that the man they were looking for was not the Phantom. Which meant that Erik and Christine might still be able to escape Paris unnoticed. That is, if Christine had managed to keep Erik from doing anything irrational.

xXx

Christine had long stayed wrapped with Erik in the quiet of his underground world. They spoke more of what had happened that night…how he had followed her to the café and watched her with Raoul…how his jealousy had made him murderous…careless. Upon hearing the whole story, Christine had again reassured him that her love for him had not waned. Yet the incident reminded her once again that her life with Erik would be a constant battle. The darkness within him would always be lurking just beneath the surface, and she would need every bit of her newly discovered strength to keep him from succumbing to it.

Erik's strength was unquestionable. Even in the moments he thought himself to be weak, the sheer force of his will was overwhelming. She often thought of the life that would have been his if not for his unfortunate face. He was brilliant, and talented, and capable of such beauty and passion. Had the right side of face been as flawless as the left, he would likely have been a very well respected member of society...perhaps an aristocrat…and someone surely would have loved him long before Christine. A simple chorus girl in the corps de ballet would have never even met a man such as Erik would have been.

And how empty my life would have been without him.

As empty as his had been before me.

Now they would share their life together, in the light if Christine had any say in it…and she certainly intended to. At the moment, they simply sat together, Erik reclined against the wall with his legs stretched out upon the small bed. Christine sat safe and warm in the circle of his arms. He had closed his eyes some time ago, and Christine was surprised to realize he had drifted off to sleep. The experience was quite unique, as she had never before had the pleasure of simply watching him as he slept.

His face was turned slightly away from her, hiding the mask he wore completely from her view. He seemed somehow younger…softer…in his repose, and Christine suddenly found herself thinking again of the child she carried. While she prayed everyday that the baby would be born healthy and free of Erik's deformity, she also found herself fervently hoping that their child would look like his…or her…father in every other way. Perhaps it was slightly selfish of her, but she wanted to give him something that was pure and beautiful and unquestionably his.

Her reverie was interrupted by Erik's sudden movement next to her. The peacefulness of his rest quickly forgotten as he shot up from the bed in the same instant that one of his alarms sounded. He shot a hard look at Christine even as he moved towards the other side of the chamber. "Stay here."

He reached for his lasso, and her heart pounded in fear. She obeyed his command, praying that their intruder wasn't a threat, for she had no desire to be witness to whatever Erik would do if they were discovered here. A moment later, she heard the sound of the wall sliding open, then a moment of charged silence.

"Erik…quite a mess you've managed to make."

Christine sighed in relief at the stern voice of Madame Giry floating through the chamber, and then Erik's clipped response.

"An unfortunate accident."

Christine slid from the bed and slipped into the connecting room to see Madame standing with arms crossed and a disapproving frown upon her face. The older woman glanced to Christine, and her frown faded into a soft smile. In no time at all, Antoinette was relaying all she had learned from her visit to the police station. Erik was visibly surprised at hearing that the woman he had saved had not betrayed his true identity, and Christine clasped his hand in relief. She asked Madame, "Do you think we shall be able to leave tomorrow as we'd planned?"

Antoinette looked to Erik. "I am not certain. Do you think you can make it to the Marseille House…?"

He nodded firmly. "I will." He glanced to Christine, his face set in determination. "By whatever means necessary."

Christine drew a ragged breath and closed her eyes, willing herself to accept the possibility that he may need to break his promise to her. Antoinette nodded to Erik, "The coachman I have hired is reliable. He will say nothing of what he sees…as long as he is well paid. I believe Jerome has done some errands for you in the past, Erik."

Erik drew a breath, not comfortable with trusting anyone apart from Christine and the Girys. Yet he had no wish to send the ladies alone to Chantilly while he made his own way there. Too many things could go awry, and he felt far safer keeping Christine under his watchful eye. "I will make certain Jerome is _very _well paid."

And I will also make certain he knows what will happen to him if he dares betray me.

With the final details arranged, Erik sent Christine off with a quick kiss and a promise that this would be the last time they would part. The two ladies carefully made their way back into the Paris streets, and Christine measured every step with a memory. Tomorrow the city would fade away, and a lifetime would be waiting with the dawn.

* * *

**A/N:** Looks like Erik caught a little break for the moment. I managed to get this update in...a little later than usual...but here it is. I'll be out of town tomorrow and away from my computer. So the next update will be Wednesday. See you then. 


	29. In Flight

In Flight

In the dark hours before dawn, the shadows danced in the passageways under the Opera Populaire. The ghosts of the past were out for one final haunt, and the most notable among them stood behind the mirror of Christine's dressing room, gazing into the emptiness. Erik was dressed much as he had been on the night he'd first brought her into his world, in a black suit and cloak. The dramatic white mask was absent, replaced by the leather he now favored, and a fedora was firmly settled upon his head. At his feet was a bag filled with the few possessions he wished to carry with him into the future. He'd opted to pack light, taking only what was necessary for the journey. Everything else could be purchased once they safely reached Dover.

If we reach Dover.

His lasso was folded under his cloak, a dagger hidden in his boot, and a blade concealed in the cane he had tucked under his arm. Christine had made no comment at his mention that he might need to defend himself on their exodus from Paris, but he had seen the fear in her eyes. The obvious disapproval. Erik knew his angel was warring with herself, wanting to hold him to the promise he had made to her, but just selfish enough to want him with her at any cost. He smiled at the thought. It seemed he had somewhat corrupted her morals, and he could no longer find it in himself to feel sorry for it. He rather liked Christine's newfound spirit. Yet he knew that she'd meant it when she'd told him she would not forgive him were he to kill again in cold blood…as he had killed both Buquet and Piangi.

With one final look into the dressing room, he retrieved his bag and turned back down the tunnel. He was certainly not foolish enough to exit into the streets near the Opera after the renewed interest of the Paris authorities. Despite the news Madame Giry had brought about the investigation, Erik knew he was more likely to be noticed now with the Phantom once again fresh in the minds of the police.

The streets were nearly empty at such an ungodly hour, devoid of all but the more unsavory citizens. Erik carefully slid the stone that covered the entrance he'd chosen and quickly slipped through into the alley. He stood motionless in the shadows, glancing around for any movement, and when he was satisfied that it was safe, he started toward the end of the alley. He needed only to make it three short blocks to the Marseille House without incident, and then there would be the matter of ensuring that the coachman Madame Giry had hired would remain silent.

One would think that the short distance to the boarding house could be easily traversed amongst the outcasts of moral society. Yet Fate seemed suddenly to be playing with Erik once again. He'd no sooner set one foot into the street before he caught sight of two police standing on the diagonal corner. They were directly in his intended path and did not appear in any hurry to move along. Erik cursed under his breath and debated his options. He could continue on and hope not to be recognized in the short time he'd need to be on the main street. Or he could turn in the opposite direction and take the longer route to the boarding house. He waited a few moments longer in the alley, hoping they'd be on their way, but with no luck.

Growling in frustration, he turned to the right, moving quickly away from the men. He snaked in and out of the alleys, carefully circling around the buildings while keeping a watchful eye for more police. Halfway to the Marseille House, he caught sight of another on patrol. They certainly seemed to be crawling about on this morning, but at least this one was moving along down the street instead of lollygagging on a corner. When the officer turned down a side street, Erik started his careful dance again. No sooner had he reached the shadows of the next alley he meant to slink through than he was forcibly stopped by the barrel of a pistol pointed directly at him.

Caught momentarily off guard, Erik found himself slammed against the alley wall, the gun pressed into his chest. His heart stalled and he lost his breath from the unexpected blow before his eyes focused on the man in front of him. Where he'd expected to see a uniform, he saw instead dirty and unkempt clothes, stained with dirt and what was likely blood, hanging on the body of man about Erik's height. The man's unshaven face was hard and his mouth turned into a sneer.

"You picked the wrong alley tonight, mes'eur. Turn out your pockets nice and slow or you're a dead man."

Erik stared at the man in stunned silence a moment before he began to laugh. He'd not been caught by the police…but a common robber. Could Fate possibly throw anymore bad luck into his path?

The robber sneered even more, tightening one grimy hand over Erik's throat and pushing the barrel of the pistol roughly into his sternum. "Keep laughing and I'll strip your valuables off your dead body!"

Erik sobered, glaring at the man before him. "Do you know who I am?"

The man hissed, "Don't give a damn who you are! Only care what you've got and what you can get me."

Erik's mouth twisted in an evil smile. "Then allow me to show you what I have." He held his gloved hands up, palms open and facing out in a non-threatening manner, showing the robber he'd nothing in them. Then he slowly did exactly as he'd been asked, reaching his right hand slowly inside his cloak towards his pocket while keeping his left out. The gun poked deeper into his flesh.

"Slowly. No tricks."

Erik stifled his grin, tucking his fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat to pull out the glittering diamond engagement ring that Christine had folded into his palm so many months ago. He'd not been able to leave the ring behind, though it held only painful memories for him now. Yet something had urged Erik to tuck it into his pocket before leaving his underground lair. The robber's eyes drifted down to the stone as it shined in the moonlight, just as Erik had known they would. The hand at his throat loosened only fractionally, but it was enough.

Seizing that brief moment of distraction, Erik jerked his left hand up against the gun at his chest, forcing the weapon up into the air as it fired over his left shoulder and into the wall behind him. At the same moment, Erik had wrapped his other hand around the robber's right arm and wrenched it from his throat, snapping the man's wrist quickly. The pain he'd inflicted on the bastard served to aid Erik as he pushed away from the wall and used his momentum to fling them both across the alley into the opposing concrete. The gun fired again into the air, and Erik new it would not be long before the police he'd seen would descend on the sound. He slammed the robber's gun hand against the wall until the weapon clattered to the pavement below. Then he backhanded the robber across the face, closing both hands around the scoundrel's throat and squeezing. _This man_ he could kill…there was no reason not to.

Voices echoed through the streets, the rapid pounding of feet growing louder as they came closer. Erik growled, released his victim and twirled away to retrieve his bag, cane, and the diamond ring sparkling in the middle of the alley. He desperately scanned the darkness for a means of escape, ignoring the robber who was crawling toward the fallen pistol. Erik's eyes locked on a drainage pipe that ascended to the gutters on the far end of the alley, and he ran for it. His best chance was to climb. If he could make it to the roof, he'd have a chance of disappearing while the police were distracted with that foolish thug.

Erik looped the handle of his bag over his forearm and launched himself upwards, his gloved hands closed around the pipe mere seconds before the sound of a gunshot echoed through the gloom.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I am evil to leave it there. And a somewhat short chapter at that...but it just crept up on me out of nowhere and demanded to be written. 


	30. In Passing

**In Passing**

The black coach arrived in the alley behind the Marseille House well before dawn. The driver, Jerome, jumped down from his seat to calm the horses, giving them both an appreciative pat. The fine animals were his livelihood…the respectable one, at any rate. With four little ones at home, another on the way and an ailing mother to care for, it was the more unsavory side jobs that kept his head above water. He knew whom he was to be meeting here, and he couldn't shake the cold fear that had settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd done a few jobs for Madame Giry before, and for the man she called Erik. Those were before the fire at the Opera House, though, and now Jerome knew exactly who the masked man was. Still, he had no quarrel with ghosts, and no particular fondness for either the Paris upper crust or the police. He'd already been paid very well by the Madame just to show up and keep quiet, with the promise of an equal payment waiting at the end of the journey. So he stood quietly in the alley, waiting for his passengers.

Right on time, three ladies appeared from the back door of the building. Madame Giry, who he'd met before, and two younger ladies. A pretty little blond and even prettier brunette…but then, Jerome always had preferred dark-haired beauties. He nodded to the ladies, and Madame approached him and handed him a few Francs.

"For your trouble so far, Jerome. I trust you shall continue to be discreet."

"Certainly, Madame." He bent to load the ladies bags into the coach, absently muttering, "I haven't seen a sign of him yet. Hope he didn't get caught up in that trouble back near Rue des Postes."

At the mention of trouble, Christine paled, a gasp escaping her lips as she clutched at Meg's hand. Fear gripped her heart even as Madame Giry laid a hand on Jerome's back to regain his attention, sharply asking, "What trouble?"

Jerome turned, taking note of the ladies' fearful expressions and the young brunette's sudden wan pallor, and he grimaced, "Sorry, ma'maselles…I got stopped by the police on the way here. They searched my coach and asked me where I was off to. Told them I had a prearranged fare to pick up, but I didn't give them any other details." All three ladies seemed to be looking more distressed as he talked, so he rushed to add, "They weren't looking for _him_, though. They're out looking for a robber that murdered one of his victims sometime after midnight. They think he's still in the area…warned me to be careful."

Tears were falling over Christine's cheeks, and her breath was coming in short panicked gasps. Meg squeezed her friend's hand, attempting to reassure her, "He will be here, Christine. I'm sure the police are too preoccupied with this robber to even notice him."

As if making a mockery of Meg's soothing words, the predawn silence was shattered with a distant gunshot. Christine jumped at the sound. The four people in the alley grew very still. Then another shot rang out, and Christine began to fall apart, her wild eyes seeking out Madame Giry. "M-madame…?"

Antoinette rushed to the girl's side, grabbing onto her arm. "You must not even think it, Christine."

When the third shot split the air, Christine slumped limply into Meg and Madame's arms.

xXx

"Christine…Christine…you must wake up now, child."

Wake up?

No. She did not wish to ever wake again. She was perfectly happy to stay right here in the darkness. With Erik. She could feel his arms around her, hear his heartbeat and smell the spicy scent that clung to his skin. She could see the passion and love in his beautiful eyes. If she opened her own, she knew that her lover would be gone.

"Christine…please…open your eyes."

Meg, now…begging me…

Christine felt consciousness tugging at her, and she tried to sink deeper into the blackness. It was so peaceful there. She had no reason to ever leave.

You most certainly do have a reason, Christine. Your child needs you. Erik's child.

Her breathing began to quicken as she danced around the edge of the waking world. She could feel the tears slipping from beneath her closed eyelids as she climbed back into cold reality.

"Mon ange?"

Her heart jumped in her chest. _His voice! _Was she dreaming? No…the arms around her seemed to tighten. Slowly, her lashes fluttered open. Shadows blurred her vision before her eyes came sharply into focus. She was staring at a dark cravat and her cheek rested against a strong shoulder. Christine caught her breath as her gaze jerked upward, "Erik…?"

He smiled down at her, "I certainly hope you were not expecting someone else."

A sob escaped her and she flung her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his throat. "Oh, Erik…you're alive."

He chuckled, "Yes…quite." He cupped a hand under her chin and raised her face, eyeing her closely, "Are _you_ well, Christine?"

Christine smiled through her tears, mimicking his words, "Yes…quite." And then she was pulling his head down to kiss him thoroughly, completely mindless to the fact that both Madame Giry and Meg sat across from them trying their best to avert their eyes from the intimate scene. Erik, however, was very aware of their position, as he currently sat in the very confined space of the coach with Christine across his lap. He was also aware of Meg clearing her throat in an attempt to gain Christine's attention, and then trying in vain to stifle her laughter when her friend remained wrapped up in Erik. Madame Giry gently squeezed her daughter's hand in warning, and Erik gently pried Christine from him, sliding across the seat so that he could remove her from his lap.

She suddenly seemed to realize her surroundings, and blushed deeply as she straightened herself onto the seat next to him. She glanced briefly to Madame and Meg, dropping her eyes in embarrassment before she looked back to Erik. She clasped his hand tightly, "What happened?"

Erik sighed through an ironic smile, "It seems you fainted again, my dear."

He had slipped behind the Marseille House a few moments ago to find his angel laying unconscious across the seat of the coach with both Girys trying to rouse her. At the sight of him, Little Meg had jumped out and flung her arms around his shoulders. The moment had been entirely awkward, and he'd not known what to do with the girl. He'd soon realized the reason for her reaction, however, cursing his damned luck once again. The shots fired at Rue des Postes could not have gone unnoticed at so close a distance. Erik should have expected that the ladies would have heard them and thought the worst.

Christine squeezed Erik's hand, in no mood for his games now. "The gunshots, Erik! Tell me you were nowhere near them."

He glanced away, smiling slightly at Madame Giry and Meg who were clearly just as interested in his answer as Christine. "I…was in the vicinity…but as you see…I am unscathed."

Christine eyed him warily, sensing there was more. "What are you not telling me?"

Erik closed his eyes briefly, the memory of what had occurred in the alley rushing back. He had run towards the pipe attached to the two story building that lined the alley, and with one well made leap, he'd given himself a good start at scaling the wall. He'd heard the gunshot and been half expecting to feel the pain of a bullet rip into his flesh, but the pain had never come, and he'd not paused one moment in his frantic ascent. Years of haunting the rafters had made him agile enough, and he'd quickly pulled himself over the top of the building. He'd laid on his back staring at the fading stars above, taking a quick inventory of his senses. There had been no pain, and glancing down at himself, no blood.

He'd risked a look back down into the alley below, and seen the robber slumped against the wall where Erik had left him. Two policemen were already standing over him, both with guns drawn. A third had approached even as Erik watched. The clips of conversation he'd caught told him that the man laying dead in the alley had been the reason for the extra patrols on the streets, and that the final shot fired had been from a police revolver.

Erik had taken a moment to collect himself before taking advantage of the commotion on the ground, leaping over to the adjoining rooftop. He'd slid down into an empty alley when it was safe and quickly closed the remaining distance to the boarding house, using the distraction of the events at Rue des Postes to complete his venture completely unnoticed.

Erik smiled again, looking at Christine. "I assure you, Christine, there is nothing of consequence to tell. The fine Parisian police force has captured their man on this night, and it was not I. Now…are we ready to begin our journey, my love?"

A slow smile spread over Christine's face. She was certain there was more to the story, but at the moment, all that mattered was that Erik was here with her. Safe. "Yes, Erik, more than ready."

Erik nodded, exiting the coach briefly to call Jerome from his watch. He'd intended to use his considerable charms to the intimidate the boy into submission, but Erik looked into the young man's eyes, and saw the flicker of fear there. His mouth twisted in a pleased smile at the sight, and he decided he just might keep his lasso inside his cloak for their little talk. After all, he could be just as dangerous without it.

* * *

**A/N:** Wow...do I put poor Christine through the ringer or what? But Erik is back with her, safe and sound. 


	31. In Marriage

**In Marriage**

As the darkness of the morning faded into daylight, the coach carrying the infamous Phantom of the Opera and his chosen soprano rumbled along the dirt roads of the French countryside towards Chantilly. All four passengers had sat in quiet tension, hardly daring to breathe at all for as long as it had taken them to put the Paris city limits well behind them. Each mile traversed brought a little more relief, and soon the hours were being passed in soft conversation.

The subject of Erik's morning encounter with the robber and the police was determinedly broached again by Christine. As Erik had suspected, the entire story, when he'd finally revealed it, had not been well received. Christine's face had gone ashen when he'd described the events in the alleyway. She'd thrown herself into his arms again, grateful that he'd not gotten himself killed or captured, and then she'd pushed him away with a huff, calling him a bloody fool for taking such a chance with a gun pressed into his chest. Her moods lately shifted faster than his own, and he vaguely wondered if her pregnancy was the cause. He recalled hearing that women could be exceptionally emotional whist with child, and he suspected that the coming months would be a challenge for them both.

Despite the growing distance from Paris, Erik kept a watchful eye on the road for any signs of trouble. The day had not had a promising start, and he found himself waiting for the next difficulty to present itself. Yet for once, Fate seemed to be on his side, and the journey was free from anymore unwanted drama.

It was just after noon when the coach came to a stop in front of the little church to which Madame Giry had given Jerome directions. The building was constructed with rather crude stonework, chipped and timeworn, and the thatched roof was showing signs of age. Yet the grounds were immaculately maintained with fine rows of flowerbeds and bushes lining the building. It was every bit a small country church, well away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

Madame Giry exited the coach first, slipping inside the church so that she might speak with the vicar in private. Meg excused herself so that she might stretch her legs and immediately struck up an amiable conversation with Jerome. Erik stayed in the coach with Christine, still guarded and watchful. Christine took note of his tense demeanor and slipped her hand into his, smiling in reassurance. He relaxed only marginally, yet returned her smile. He could scarcely believe he was sitting outside of a church with Christine, waiting to make her his wife.

Madame Giry came along side the coach again, and Erik's tension returned as he waited for her to relay some catastrophic news. She merely raised her brows and asked, "Are you quite ready to be wed, my friend?"

Christine tightened her grip on Erik's hand, her entire form trembling in anticipation. The couple quickly made their way out of the coach and followed Madame and Meg into the church. The interior was as lovingly maintained as the grounds, despite wearing the same marks of age and use. Erik felt decidedly out of place, having only ever set foot in the chapel at the Opera Populaire to achieve his own selfish gains. He had used his guise as an angel to lure Christine to him, gain her trust, making a mockery of her beliefs.

Madame Giry had assured Erik that the vicar was a compassionate man who did not participate in the idle gossip of the villagers, and indeed, the elder gentleman greeted them with a warm smile and barely spared a glance at Erik's mask. He did, however, make it a point to thank Erik for the hefty donation to his church. Erik had shifted uncomfortably, having no faith to speak of, but Christine had been pleased by the vicar's words, so Erik nodded in acknowledgement.

Meg pulled Christine aside, grinning broadly and pushing a small cluster of flowers into her friend's hands. "Here, Christine…every bride should have a bouquet."

Christine smiled at the gesture, but her brow went up in suspicion, thinking of those lovely flowerbeds outside of the church, "Meg, where did you get these?"

Meg clicked her tongue, dropping her voice to nearly a whisper, "Never you mind where I got them. Now go on, it is time for you to become Madame le Fantôme?" Christine giggled a little at her friend's teasing, yet her eyes sought out Erik across the room as he spoke with the vicar about the marriage license. As if sensing her gaze, he turned and met her eyes, and the emotion that entered the glittering blue-green depths could hardly be considered proper for their surroundings.

The wedding ceremony was simple and beautiful, with Meg standing to Christine's left and Madame Giry to Erik's right. Christine's dress was not the fine white lace that Erik had once chosen, but a simple pale pink that she had traveled in. Nor was the ring that Erik placed on her finger the glittering bluish gem that held so many bad memories, but a simple engraved gold band whose twin Christine slid onto Erik's elegant hand. The pain of the past had no place here, only the hope for their future as they pledged their love and fidelity.

After the vows were exchanged and the marriage consecrated in the eyes of God, the wedding party once again piled into the coach to complete the journey to Chantilly. Christine could not keep the smile from her face as she twined her fingers with her husband's and rested her head against his shoulder. Erik sat quietly gazing out the window once again, still somewhat in shock that Christine was now his wife. _His._

He searched the passing scenery, still alert for any sign of trouble. There was really no way to know how aware of the Paris news the people of Chantilly would be. He could only be grateful that his slip several nights ago had not made the papers, else he'd likely not have made it this far without trouble.

Upon arriving in the town, Jerome pulled up to a small inn bordered by a bit of woods. It seemed sufficiently out of the way, and Erik made a note to give Jerome a few more Francs for being so forward thinking. The ladies entered the inn first while Erik remained, preferring to have another word Jerome before himself slipping into the building.

Inside the inn, Madame Giry secured three rooms, one in the name of Rousseau, which was the name Erik had given to the vicar, one for herself and Meg, and one for the coachman. Erik had stolen into the room as discreetly as possible, grateful that his wife had provided some distraction for him. After dropping their bags, Madame and Meg decided to explore Chantilly, leaving the newlyweds alone to enjoy their first hours alone as husband and wife. Antoinette instructed the innkeeper to send supper up to the Rousseaus' room, but not to disturb them otherwise, as they were newly married. Erik and Christine had no reason to venture out until morning, when they would board the train and set forth into their future.

The couple ate together in comfortable silence, speaking a little of England, of the journey and the immediate necessities they would need to secure. A home was first on the agenda, and then some means of income, though Erik's considerable savings from his 'paychecks' over the years would give them a good start.

Christine smiled softly as her eyes roamed hungrily over her husband…_her husband. _They had not made love since the night before Christine had told Erik of their child. The moments they had stolen together since then had been brief, and each time, Erik had refused them both what they so craved, insisting they would be married before they again gave in to passion. At last, the moment had come. Yet to Christine's incredible frustration, Erik seemed content to simply sit in quiet contemplation of her.

She was far from content. She wanted her husband, and she would have him. With a determined glint in her eyes, she stood and moved around the table coming to rest in front of Erik and laying a hand to his cheek. "I would like to go to bed now, Erik."

He smiled a little, "Of course, you must be tired from the day's journey. You should rest." His eyes were soft on hers, his tone compassionate and tender, and it only served to frustrate Christine even further.

She stepped closer to him, gently pulling his mask away, and sighing in mild annoyance when she had to stop him from turning his face away once again. She leaned down until her mouth was mere inches from his. "I am not tired, Erik. Tonight is our wedding night, and we have been too long apart."

She kissed him then, brushing her lips over his softly at first, and more determinedly when his mouth parted beneath hers. A groan rumbled in his chest and without breaking the sweet contact, Erik stood in front of her, pulling her into his arms and aligning their bodies so that she could feel every inch of his powerful frame. Christine pressed herself even closer and moaned as the familiar fire sparked within her and began to rage out of control.

Erik abruptly broke contact, setting her away from him as he struggled with his desire, and Christine nearly whimpered from the loss. "Christine…?" His voice was hoarse and eyes blazing with barely leashed passion. "Are you certain...that we…should?" His eyes dropped tellingly down to her waist.

Christine felt herself smile a little at his concern and tugged him back to her. "We should, my love." She pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I need you." A tiny nip to his lower lip. "My husband."

Erik was captivated by her playful seduction, and with a groan he captured her mouth deeply. They undressed one another with the swift determination of lovers who had been denied their hearts for too long. Erik lifted Christine in his arms and laid her gently across the bed.

His wife. His soul.

He took every care to be gentle with her as he lost himself in the art of her beautiful body. His hand lingered a moment over the barely discernible curve of her belly. Though the life she carried was not yet visible at first glance, there were some noticeable changes in her figure…a fullness to her breasts and hips which had not been present before. Erik's fingers trembled slightly over her flesh and his eyes lifted to her face. Christine caught her breath at the sudden tenderness there, but tenderness quickly turned to desire as his hand moved lower still. His touch sent a surge of pleasure through Christine, and she writhed impatiently beneath him.

"Erik…"

She reached for him, and Erik could wait no longer. He abandoned his teasing caresses to take Christine's mouth in a soul searing kiss before he slowly joined their bodies in the union they were made for. Christine moaned in pleasure and she wrapped her legs around his waist to bring him deeper. Her nails bit into his shoulders, urging him to move, and he complied. They danced together to the music of their passion, the crescendo building, trembling, and finally crashing over them in waves.

Christine clung to Erik as the exquisite sensations pulsed through her, and then a calmness returned, leaving them both spent and sated. When Erik could no longer keep his full weight from Christine, he shifted and pulled her into his arms, settling her across his chest and pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

Christine smiled sleepily as she snuggled into the warm body of her husband. "I love you, my angel."

"And I you, Christine. Always and forever."

Tangled together in heart and body, they drifted into sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** We are drawing ever closer to the end of what I have written, although I did end up with a little more than I had originally outlined. I am debating with myself on whether or not I should extend this story into Dover. 

Following our couple to the birth of Baby Phantom would require, by necessity, several shared scenes with _Little Conversations_, as I dealt with the baby in that story. Now, _I_ could probably have a great deal of fun rewriting those sections from a different perspective, though some dialogue would remain. The question is would _you _be bored out of your mind to read it (again.)

I would really appreciate honest opinions and suggestions here (especially from those of you who read both stories.) Should I go on to Dover? Or should I let _LC_ stand as the 'sequel?' You've all been so great with the support and I'd really like to know what you're thinking.

Really short version…thank you to all my faithful reviewers for your kind words and encouragement. Until the next installment.


	32. In Departure

**In Departure**

The gentle stirrings of the waking world gradually invaded the private haven that the newlyweds had occupied throughout the night. Christine had been lost in the most wondrous dream, in which she and Erik had been walking along the shore…a young boy and girl, both with dark curly hair, scampering in front of them even as she felt the wonderful weight of another resting in her womb. The warm web of contentment was still wrapped around her as she drifted back to reality in the arms of her husband. She smiled softly as she slowly opened her eyes to encounter the beautiful sight of her angel watching over her.

"Good morning, Madame. I trust you were having pleasant dreams."

Christine stretched languidly against him, her lips curving even more, "Yes…the most magnificent dreams, Erik. Yet they are nothing compared to waking up in your arms."

Erik returned his wife's smile and pressed a brief kiss to her mouth. "As much as I would love to keep you here in my arms all day, mon ange, I am afraid we've a train to catch."

Christine pouted a little as he pulled away from her, but she was duly appeased by the pleasure of watching her husband's lean, powerful form as he dressed. Seeing Christine's rather obvious amusement, Erik raised a brow, "Are you quite enjoying the view, my dear?"

She grinned shamelessly, "Quite."

Erik shook his head in mock exasperation, but the smile would not seem to leave his face. Christine eventually pulled herself from the bed with a great deal of reluctance so that she could dress as well. She frowned as she saw Erik settle the mask upon his face, hating that he needed to wear it, yet knowing it was necessary in public. They swiftly packed their belongings, and Christine slipped into her husband's arms before they set out to meet Madame Giry and Meg.

He smiled down to her, "Are you ready, Madame Rousseau?"

Christine grinned, "Erik…you still have not told me what prompted you to give the vicar that name."

He raised his left brow, "I could not very well give him _le Fantôme_."

Christine slapped his chest playfully, "Am I never to know if it holds any meaning?"

He sighed, "If you must know, I appropriated it from a philosopher who claimed that man is a _noble savage _when left to nature_…_that good people are made unhappy and corrupted by their experiences in society. It rather suits me, do you not think?"

She frowned slightly, "I think we will need to discuss this philosopher of yours, Erik."

He laughed, "I promise you we will discuss him in depth…and a great many others, Christine. We've years ahead of us for such conversations."

Christine's frown at once dissolved, replaced by a joyous smile at hearing Erik finally speak of their future with such unqualified hope. "Yes, my love, years."

xXx

The hour was still early when the coach stopped in front of the railway platform and a dark figure stepped out, offering his hand to help three very different, very important women to the ground. The four made their way to the train quickly, striving to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.

Madame Giry hugged Christine, giving her last minute encouragement and best wishes. Erik kissed little Meg's hand and offered her a hesitant smile and an awkward thanks for all she had done.

Then Erik bowed to Madame Giry, kissing both her cheeks, and Christine hugged Meg fiercely. "You will visit us, Meg. England is not so long a journey these days."

"Of course, Christine." Yet they both knew that it would be quite sometime before they would see one another again.

Christine whispered into the blonde's ear, "Tell Raoul that I am sorry, and that I wish him only happiness."

Meg wiped away an errant tear, nodding at her friend. "I will. Be happy, Christine."

Christine looked to Erik and smiled. "I will be. I feel certain of it."

She took her husband's hand firmly and allowed him to help her step up into the train. Christine turned a tearful gaze once more to the family she was leaving behind before vanishing into the car. With one final bow to both Giry women, Erik disappeared inside as well.

Meg clasped her mother's arm tightly and they stood in watchful silence until the train lurched into motion and disappeared into the bright morning sun.

xXx

Calais was a bustling port, teaming with a mesh of characters the likes of which Christine Daaé Rousseau had never seen. Sailors, businessmen, panhandlers, prostitutes, aristocrats, tourists, young and old, rich and poor, all passing one another on the streets without a second glance. Yet her husband had earned more than one sidelong look, and she could feel his tension radiating from every pour of his body.

Erik had never before openly walked in the light of day, and doing so now was torture to him. Christine was all too aware of his darkening mood. It had begun on the train from Chantilly. Though they'd not encountered any difficulties, the confinement of the private car had made Erik increasingly uneasy. There would have been no escape from a moving train had his fugitive status been discovered.

Christine had been just as uncomfortable. She had always hated traveling by rail as a child, the rough motion of the cars and the rumbling of the wheels over the track making her nervous and slightly ill. The experience had been no better now that she was grown, and probably even made a little worse by the natural symptoms of her pregnancy. Yet having Erik beside her had made the trip bearable, and she'd managed to sleep for a portion of the journey.

She knew her husband had not done the same, but remained ever alert and at the ready. They had not been far from Chantilly before Erik extracted a promise that Christine would immediately return to the Girys in Paris should anything happen to him. He'd forced their marriage license into her hands, saying _'You will be a respectable widow, Christine. Perhaps your vicomte will even take you back.' _Christine had hated hearing Erik utter those words in such a cold tone. Despite the promise he'd forced her to make, she had no intention of returning to Paris.

She tightened her hold on Erik's arm, attempting to calm him. Thus far no one had seemed overly suspicious, but the innkeeper was eyeing Erik strangely, obviously trying to peak under the brim of his fedora for a better look at his face. Christine drew a steadying breath and prayed they could make it through one more night in France. Tomorrow they would board the paddle steamer to England. She would breath much easier when they were safely out of the country.

The innkeeper was man by the name of L'Roche, with a cap of messy white hair and a thick beard. His wary green eyes never left Erik as he turned the ledger to be signed. Erik took the pen from the man and even as he set it in motion, L'Roche opened his mouth and let his curiosity reign. "Do you wear that mask for fashion or necessity, Monsieur?"

The pen stilled in Erik's hand, his jaw set and muscles tensed under Christine's hand. She caught her breath, squeezing his arm in an attempt to avert his temper. "My husband was injured in service of the empire, Monsieur. He does not like to speak of it."

Erik raised a brow in surprise and glanced to Christine. L'Roche looked from Erik to Christine and back again, tipping his head to the side in careful contemplation. Christine flashed her most innocent smile at the man, hoping he would let the subject drop. Unfortunately, he did not. "Mm. My apologies, sir, but there was story in the papers awhile back about a masked madman terrorizing an opera house in Paris."

Erik grit his teeth and began to move left hand down under his cloak. Christine's firm grasp on his arm impeded him. She forced a little laugh. "Oh, yes...we have heard that horrid story. Quite ironic, really, as my husband simply abhors opera of any sort." She turned to Erik with a sweet smile. "Do you not, my love?"

Erik looked at her incredulously, shaking his head slightly in disbelief; he turned back to the innkeeper with barely concealed contempt. "Yes…I find such overblown spectacles to be of little use... merely a vehicle to primp the egos of Prima Donnas with more vanity than talent." He felt Christine's nails bite into his arm and glanced back to her with an icy smile.

L'Roche laughed heartily, "I'm of a similar mind, Monsieur." The man nodded then, more to himself than anything, and gave a warm smile to the couple before him. "If you find yourself in need of anything during your stay, I'll be happy to assist you, sir." He handed a key to Erik. "Your room is left at the top of the stairs."

Erik nodded to the man, "Thank you." He turned the key over to Christine, bent to pick up their cases, and headed towards the stairs.

Only when Erik closed the door of their room behind Christine did she allow herself to breathe again. "Erik, do you think he suspected the truth?" Her eyes were wide and fearful.

He raised his brow, "He seemed duly soothed by your fine acting skills, mon ange."

She smiled a little, "You did quite a fine job yourself…although you'd best have been thinking of Carlotta when you spoke of vain Prima Donnas."

Erik chuckled, "Who else would I be speaking of, my dear?" As he spoke, his fingers parted the curtains on the window and his eyes fastened on the street below.

Christine came to his side, taking his hand in hers. "You won't be sleeping tonight, will you?"

Erik turned back to her with a raised brow, "It would not be wise, mon ange. L'Roche has just proven that the story of our unfortunate history has reached Calais. It is best to keep alert, lest we be taken by surprise."

She sighed, "Will we ever be free of this cloud that hangs over us?"

He pulled his hand from hers, turning back to the window with his jaw set. When he spoke, his words were clipped and cold, "You knew what tying yourself to me would mean, Christine. I warned you of it, but you chose this fate nonetheless." He glanced back to her with narrowed eyes, "If you regret it now, you've still time to turn back."

Christine crossed her arms over her chest defensively, her dark eyes sparkling with anger, "I've no regrets. If your damnable temper hasn't yet turned me away, it certainly will not do so now, _husband_."

Erik wordlessly refocused his attention on the window, and Christine growled in frustration. Two steps forward and three back again…would she always need to beware of every word she spoke?

"I am going downstairs to the tavern, Erik. We've not yet had supper, and _your son _is making demands on my appetite which I shan't refuse." Christine watched him flinch at her words, but he still did not turn from the window. "Will you make me eat alone?"

"You will draw less attention without me, my dear."

With a little cry of aggravation, Christine turned on her heal and flung open the door, slamming it behind her as she left the room. She swiped away a wayward tear, cursing Erik silently for reducing her to this childish behavior again. Halfway down the stairs, she reluctantly admitted that she'd overreacted to his reticence.

Good God…what is the matter with me? I should know his moods by now. Erik is only being Erik.

Christine hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, thinking she should go back up, but she could smell the most wonderful aroma drifting in from the tavern and her stomach reminded her that she had barely eaten all day. Making amends with Erik would just have to wait until she'd satisfied her sudden craving for roasted chicken.

* * *

**A/N: **I want to thank all of you who gave me your opinions...you might be able to tell by this chapter that I've decided to take Erik and Christine a little farther than the orginal outline to satisfy what I believe is the majority opinion that you'd like to see Baby Phantom. I'll try to keep it at least semi-interesting on the way there. But don't hesitate to keep those reviews coming and let me know if I'm losing your interest. 


	33. In Vigilance

**In Vigilance**

The L'Roche Inn and Tavern was one of the more respectable establishments in Calais, but regardless of that fact, it was not the wisest course of action for a lady to dine alone there. Christine found herself being quite blatantly leered at by several of the men in the room. The tavern maid, a voluptuous red-head named Monique, had taken pity on her obvious discomfort and had soon struck up a conversation. Unfortunately, Monique proved to be the curious sort, and Christine found herself telling a great many half truths. The conversation came to a sudden halt as the red-head's attention was diverted to something over Christine's shoulder. Her mouth turned up in an alluring smile, "Oi…what a fine specimen that is."

Christine sensed Erik behind her without turning, both surprised and mildly irritated by the feminine interest she saw glittering in Monique's eyes. Oh, she knew her husband was an extremely desirable and seductive man, and the mask could only add to his mysterious appeal, but she'd never before seen another woman look at him in such a way. Well, except for Meg…once…very briefly…before Christine had glared at her. Yet even her friend's reaction had been tempered with a tiny measure of fear. The woman before her now had no timidity in her gaze, and her smile grew more inviting as Erik drew nearer.

Christine felt his hand come to rest on her shoulder, and she instinctively leaned into his touch. Monique's eyes went wide, briefly flashing with disappointment which she quickly covered. "You must be Monsieur Rousseau. My name is Monique. Can I offer you anything?"

Christine glanced up at the woman sharply, not liking the particular inflection she'd placed in that question. Erik merely leveled a quelling look at the girl and barked, "No. Leave us."

Monique colored noticeably and huffed, "Yes, sir." She shot a look at Christine, a strange mix of compassion and envy, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Erik rounded the table and sat across from Christine, folding his hands together and looking at her in obvious displeasure. Christine frowned at him, "You really did not need to be so rude, Erik."

His left brow arched elegantly, "If you wish, I can call her back and allow her to fawn over me."

Christine shook her head. "Why must you always be so difficult?"

He leaned forward across the table, his voice dropping dangerously. "You really do not wish to have that discussion here, mon ange. Now if you are quite finished drawing attention to yourself, I will escort you back to our room."

She glared at him, "How kind of you to come and fetch me, Erik, but I am perfectly capable of finding my way upstairs on my own."

He glanced over to a table where two _gentleman_ had been eyeing Christine rather intently. "Yes…but I rather think you might have found yourself with some unwelcome company, my dear. Monsieur L'Roche was kind enough to suggest that I keep a closer watch on you. It seems you've a penchant for attracting unwanted advances." The last was said with an ironic smile, and Christine knew he was speaking of himself and of Raoul. His next words dripped with sarcasm. "And I certainly would not wish to break my promise in defense of your virtue."

Christine drew a deep breath, wordlessly pushing her chair back from the table and standing. She headed to the room without even caring to see if Erik was following. Of course, she could feel him behind her. As soon as she heard the click of the door, she spun around with a scowl. "What have I done to suddenly deserve your contempt, Erik?"

He leaned back against the door regarding her carefully. "I rather thought it was I who had earned yours, my dear. After all, _I _am not the one who stormed out in a temper."

Christine flushed slightly, "I asked you to come down with me, and you refused. What would you have had me do?"

Erik pushed away from the door, closing the small distance between them. "I would have you be more careful, Christine. You should have ordered your meal to be sent to the room, not placed yourself on open display. You are far too trusting of people."

"And you are far too suspicious! Has it ever occurred to you that your guarded, secretive nature and complete disdain for other people draws far more attention than your mask ever could?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and his voice became nearly a growl. "What would _you_ have _me_ do, Christine? The world has shown nothing but disdain for me! If I am guarded and secretive, it is because I was taught to be so with the end of a whip! With pretty girls like you turning their faces from me in disgust."

Christine closed her eyes against the tears that were falling. "Erik, you will never begin to heal if you cannot let go of the past."

He laughed in contempt, "The scars I have will _never_ heal, Christine! I am sorry if you thought they would."

She opened her eyes, reaching up to cup his face. "I thought you had embraced our future, yet you seem determined to chase me away again." She traced her fingers along the edge of his mask. "I am sorry if you think I have been careless with our safety, and I am sorry for walking out on you earlier, but I will not apologize for trying to lead you from the darkness. There is a life in this world awaiting us, and we _will_ have it, Erik." She dropped her palms from his face and reached for his hands, placing them both over her abdomen. "Just as there is a life here within me. Will you not even try to let go of the past for the sake of your son?"

Christine felt his entire body tense, knowing that the subject of their child wasn't one Erik wanted to discuss. The entire evening had degenerated so quickly into this familiar cycle of blame and self-loathing. As resilient as she had lately discovered herself to be, she desperately needed some reassurance that Erik was willing to meet her halfway. She watched him draw a deep breath, watched his stormy eyes fall closed, and heard him utter one word.

"Daughter."

She caught her breath, not expecting that at all. "Erik?"

His eyes opened, clearer than they had been, with much of his anger drained away. "If there is any mercy in this world, it will be a girl…and she will look like you."

Christine swallowed heavily, fresh tears spilling at the tenderness in his eyes. Secretly, she had been wanting a son, yet with Erik's words she felt a strange rightness settle over her. The feeling was impossible to describe. She whispered, "Will she have an angel to protect her as I did?"

"No, mon ange. She will have two." Erik bent his head and captured Christine's lips. She released his hands so that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into his chest when their kiss ended. He stroked her hair. "Will you forgive me my temper, Christine?"

She smiled against him. "If you will forgive me mine."

Erik chuckled at that. "Ah, but your temper is so lovely on you, my dear. I find it quite…arousing."

She drew back, eyeing him strangely. "That is hardly a respectable thing to say."

His grin grew wicked, "I am hardly a respectable man." His mouth found hers once again, and this time there was no drawing back.

xXx

Erik had left Christine sleeping in bed alone while he kept watch over her throughout the night. Every so often, he would peer out the window looking for signs of discovery, and each time he saw only stillness. He felt his tension ease marginally, yet he knew the morning would bring their riskiest venture. They had already booked passage on the steamer upon their arrival in Calais, or rather, Christine had booked passage. Erik had stayed in the background in hope of avoiding recognition. Now, they only needed to board without any complications.

He didn't know what to expect, and that worried him. It did not seem as though the Phantom of the Opera was well known in the port city, but there was still a chance that the alert had been spread to the authorities here and the steamer crew would have been made aware. L'Roche may have been easily appeased with the story of an injury in the service of France, but Erik somehow doubted that he and Christine would be able to fool someone who possessed all the facts of the Phantom's case. Yes, the morning would either mark a new beginning for them…or the end.

xXx

Christine had never thought the color green was very flattering on her, and she was certain it was even less so now. She'd hardly been able to come away from the rail of the steamer since it had set sail from Calais an hour before. The train journey had been nothing to the horrid torture of a rocking ship on the rolling waves below. Looking down into the curling gray-green depths of the English Channel only served to intensify her nausea, yet she was helpless to do anything else but repeatedly hang her head over the side. Her only consolation was the constant presence of her husband beside her.

Boarding the steamer had been a lesson in stealth for Christine. Erik had pressed a kiss to her fingers on the pier and told her to board the ship, promising to find her on deck and that he would not let her out of his sight. She had wondered what he had planned, why they could not simply board together, but then she had noticed the steamer captain standing at the plank greeting passengers, and the policeman right next to him. It was not an uncommon occurrence for such a thing at port, as the authorities were often keeping a keen watch for smugglers and the like, but it made matters more difficult for Erik.

Christine had boarded without any difficulty, merely receiving a charming smile from the captain. She'd been already on deck and worrying terribly for Erik when she'd heard the commotion below. A few screams, a thunderous crash, and a great rush of passengers to the rail. For a moment, she'd thought the worst and tried to fight her way through the interested onlookers. She'd not yet made it to the rail when she'd been firmly pulled back into a pair of strong arms. She'd let out a little cry of surprise and spun around to see Erik grinning slightly. He'd pulled her quickly away from the rail and to the far side of the deck. She could see from the devilish glint in his eyes that he'd had something to do with the disturbance below, and she'd merely raised her brow and waited for an explanation.

Erik had chuckled slightly, "One would think the crew would learn to better secure their crates before attempting to load them. Though it did prove a rather a convenient distraction."

Christine had preferred not to know how Erik had managed to set up his distraction. After that, they'd not encountered anymore trouble. If they both caught a few curious glances cast their way, no one dared question them. Christine was grateful for it, as she didn't think she would have the strength for any problems at the moment. All she wanted was to be on solid ground again.

Erik held Christine as well as he could in her current condition, running one soothing hand over her back in tiny circles. Her illness brought a fresh wave of guilt crashing down upon his head. Now that they were safely in transit to England, his mind began to fully shift toward the future again. Until now, his focus had been primarily on escape; on taking himself and Christine away from the shadow of retribution. With freedom seeming every moment to be more secure, he was left to ponder exactly what he was supposed to do next.

Her pregnancy was ever present in his mind, though he had been loathe to admit it. Christine had forced the issue the night before, dragging his attention back to the fear and doubt he could not escape. He knew himself to be unworthy of Christine, knew he would likely disappoint her…or hurt her again. He _had _hurt her again. He'd shut her out and pushed her away. How could _he_ expect to be a father? What did he have to offer a child?

Yet twice Christine had said 'son,' and twice his heart had cried out that she carried a daughter. Or perhaps it was only that he wished it to be so. He doubted his own ability to love anyone but Christine, but he wanted to believe that a daughter…her daughter…would inspire the same devotion in him that he felt for his wife. And he was terrified that he would see himself in a son. Erik had no illusions in this. He knew he did not deserve happiness, and he was certain that Fate was standing ready to rip it away from him. He could only hope that Christine would not have to suffer for his sins.

The foggy outline of Admiralty Pier in the distance was a beautiful sight to both Erik and Christine, though it brought a great deal of trepidation. The life they had so long wished for was suddenly within reach, and they were both now faced with the challenge of learning how to live it.

* * *

**A/N:** Bet you thought I'd cause more trouble for them...but I took pity on poor Christine. I've already put her through the ringer in her fragile state...I thought I'd give her a little break. Well, apart from the horrible sea-sickness. 


	34. In Transition

In Transition

All things considered, Dover did not seem remarkably different than Calais had been. A great many colorful English expressions, and a handful of French phrases, flew through the air as the passengers disembarked the steamer. Erik's first concern was seeing to Christine, who was still terribly pale and exhausted from the crossing. He at once fetched a hansom and inquired about accommodations, and they had soon found themselves deposited at the Gate Inn.

The carriage ride had not improved Christine's condition, and she leaned heavily against Erik's arm as they stood in front of the innkeeper. Mr. Bennett was a burly man with a cockney accent, and eyed the couple with a great deal of concern. His wary gaze fixated on Erik's mask before darting over to Christine, who had turned her face into Erik's sleeve in an attempt to stave off another bout of nausea.

"She alright, sir?"

Erik tried to keep the contempt from his voice, resisting the urge to threaten the man only for Christine's sake. "My wife is rather ill from our recent channel crossing. She is greatly in need of rest, if you would be so _kind_."

Bennett colored slightly, nodding to Erik. He rushed through the registration and personally showed Erik and Christine to their room. Once alone, Erik swept Christine up into his arms and deposited her gently on the bed. He brushed the curls back from her face, looking intently into her eyes. "Are you feeling any better now, mon ange?"

She drew a ragged breath, "A bit…but I am certain that I will feel much better once the room stops swaying."

Erik chuckled a little and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Is there anything you wish me to do for you, Christine?"

One delicate hand found his lapel, tugging slightly, "Rest with me awhile. I need your arms around me."

Erik shifted, shrugging off his coat and loosening his cravat before he gingerly settled himself next to Christine, careful not to shake the bed very much. He tucked her against him, his front to her back, one hand settling hesitantly over her belly. Her own hand came up to rest over his, pressing his palm more firmly against her.

A small smile curved her lips and she closed her eyes. Erik was still reluctant to speak much about her pregnancy. Christine knew it would take time, and patience on her part, for him to fully embrace the child she carried. Yesterday had been the first he had spoken of it…no, of _her_…with a trace of hopefulness in his voice. Yet she could see the fear in his eyes…fear for her…fear for their baby. She knew that in this one thing, at least, she could be his strength.

Sighing heavily, she asked, "Will you sing for me, Erik?"

Christine felt his breath tickle her neck as he spoke, "What would you like me to sing, mon ange?"

"You know…"

She could feel his amusement, then the press of his lips against her shoulder before his beautiful voice filled the room, eventually soothing her to sleep.

"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…"

xXx

Christine spent much of her first two days in Dover recovering from the wretched sickness that had overcome her during the crossing. Concerned for her health, Erik had asked Bennett to call for a physician, and Doctor Winston had soon arrived on the scene. After realizing her condition, the older gentleman had given Christine a thorough examination and a clean bill of health, prescribing a simple tonic to settle her stomach and ordering her to rest and to eat. He'd also told her he would happily take her on as a patient, and that she should come and see him again in one month's time for another exam.

Once fully rested, Christine had felt wonderful…even more so with the incredible freedom that being away from Paris seemed to bring. Though Erik was reluctant to face crowds, it was clear that even he felt some measure of relief at simply being able to sit with Christine in the parlor of the inn without the fear of discovery.

He quickly redoubled his efforts to polish her English, and she was extremely grateful for the few lessons he'd provided her before they had left France. Christine was steadily improving, but she tended to miss words easily in the rapid speech patterns and heavy accents of conversation. Luckily, Mr. Bennett and the other staff at the inn spoke sufficient French, so between the two languages, they all managed to understand each other eventually. Erik had no such problems, as his English was flawless and with barely a trace of French accent.

His mask had not gone without comment, and even missing snippets of conversation, Christine had found herself struggling to defuse his temper on more than one occasion. They both longed for a measure of privacy that one simply could not obtain at the Gate Inn…and Christine longed for a home of her own.

Erik realized this, just as he realized the need to secure some means of income to supplement his savings. He quickly settled on pursuing work as an architect, having learned upon their arrival that the city was rapidly growing with the increase in travel to France and the railway connection to London. Dover beach was becoming a popular spot for holidays. Though Erik was loathe to ask anyone for help, he did inquire where he might be able to find suitable employment, and Bennett pointed him in the direction of Mr. Crawford.

Andrew Crawford was a well respected architect in Dover, working a great deal with the coastal development in Kent. He was at least fifteen years older than Erik, with deep laugh lines crinkling the corner's of his eyes and dark brown hair liberally streaked with white. His small offices were near Admiralty Pier, and Erik called on him for an interview soon after arriving in Dover.

The older man had been standing in wait when Erik entered his private office, leaning heavily on a silver topped cane. His hazel eyes were assessing, yet welcoming. He offered his hand to Erik, who hesitantly accepted it.

"Mr. Rousseau, is it?"

"Yes."

"French?"

"Yes."

Crawford chuckled at the clipped responses, "Andrew Crawford. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Do have a seat, sir, and let us get down to business." Erik grimaced, but did as he was told, taking note of Crawford's pronounced limp as he circled around his desk. "Now then, first things first…have you any references?"

Erik's hands tightened into fists. "No, I am afraid I do not. My wife and I have only recently arrived in England."

Crawford smiled in good humor, "Ah, an immigré fresh from the steamer. I bid you welcome to our fine city. Now, I assume that case at your side contains some of your work. Show me what you can do."

Erik laid his sketches across Crawford's desk, gritting his teeth and silently reminding himself that this was all for Christine. He was surprised by the tingle of nervousness he felt as Crawford looked over the papers before him. He certainly did not care what the man thought of him, he only cared about finding some respectable work so that he might provide Christine with some semblance of a respectable life. His savings could not last forever, and Erik suspected much of it would be depleted once they began the task of setting up a house.

Only when Crawford had looked over every sketch did he refocus his attention back to Erik. His eyes betrayed a glimmer of respect that caught Erik off guard. "You have a great talent, my boy. I've not seen such inventive work in quite sometime." A sudden grin broke out over the man's face. "Except my own, of course. I'd be a fool not to hire you on the spot, and I, Mr. Rousseau, am no fool."

Erik swallowed heavily, "You are…offering me a position, then?"

Crawford grinned broadly, "I most certainly am, along with a competitive stipend. Can you begin tomorrow?"

Erik shook his head slightly to clear it. He had just been offered a job. No references, no questions about his mask. It seemed too good to be true. "I…yes, of course."

"Very good, very good, my boy." Crawford stood, using his cane as leverage to do so, and Erik stood as well. The older man extended his hand, and Erik took it dazedly, caught in a firm handshake, "Eight o'clock sharp. I've already a project in mind for you."

Erik nodded, "Thank you, Mr. Crawford."

The words felt foreign on his lips.

xXx

Erik returned to the inn to find Christine talking to one of the other guests, a young lady named Ann Beaumont who was on holiday with her aunt and uncle. He hesitated at the doorway of the parlor. They had been in Dover little over a week, and Christine was already missing Meg and Madame, most especially Meg. He did not wish to intrude on her chance for some companionship, and he knew Ms. Beaumont was quite unnerved by him. It irritated him to no end that the girl could not seem to tear her eyes from his mask.

Before Erik could turn, Ann glanced up and saw him lurking, one hand fluttering to her throat nervously. He scowled as he watched the girl's reaction, even as Christine turned with a smile, and beckoned him, "Erik…come join us."

He bowed a little from the doorway, summoning his manners, such as they were. "I do not wish to intrude. Please…enjoy your tea." He spun away with a sweep of his cloak and headed for the stairs, cursing under his breath.

Still frightening innocent young girls…even on my best behavior. Imagine the terror I could inspire in young Ms. Beaumont if I really tried.

The thought was far more tempting than it should have been.

xXx

In the parlor, Christine frowned slightly as she watched Erik go. He'd not even told her how his inquiry with Mr. Crawford had gone. She set her teacup aside with a frown, turning back to her companion with an apologetic look. She spoke in French, as it was still easiest for her, and thankfully, Ann was quite fluent. "I am sorry, Ann. I really have been enjoying our talk, but I will have to excuse myself."

Ann smiled sympathetically at Christine. "I understand. I really must apologize, as well. I'm afraid Monsieur Rousseau realizes that he makes me rather nervous."

Christine's brow furrowed slightly, "You've nothing to fear from Erik." _I hope._

Ann laughed lightly, "It is just that he is so…what is the word…?"

Christine smiled a little, seeing the blush creep up Ann's pretty face. Her own wicked mind could complete that thought in so many different ways. For Ann's sake, she chose, "Intense?" The blush turned crimson, and Ann nodded. "It is alright, Ann. I know he can be rather intimidating. You have no need to apologize."

Ann sighed, "Thank you, Christine. Perhaps we might have tea again tomorrow. I am dying to hear more about Paris. I so hope to visit there one day soon."

"Of course."

Christine excused herself then, climbing the stairs to the room she shared with her husband. Opening the door, she saw him straightening his sketches and carefully putting them away. Apprehension stirred as it occurred to her that his interview might have been unsuccessful. Hesitantly, she stepped closer to him, laying her palm against his shoulder. "Erik? What did Mr. Crawford say?"

He turned, reaching up to place his hand over hers, his expression remained blank and unreadable. "He wishes to see me tomorrow morning."

Christine's eyes clouded in confusion a moment, and Erik's lip twitched ever so slightly upwards. Her lips parted in a soundless 'oh' before curving into a smile. "He's hired you?"

His brow went up. "Perhaps I shall make you a respectable husband after all, mon ange."

Christine flung her arms around him joyfully, "Oh, Erik! This is wonderful! I knew he would not be able to turn you away!" She pressed a kiss to his lips. "Now all we need is a house."

Erik laughed heartily, lifting her off the floor. "Quite the demanding little thing, are we not?" He kissed her ardently, pulling back to promise, "You shall have your house soon, Christine."

She smiled seductively, "Shall we celebrate, my love?"

"Oh, yes…we most definitely shall."

* * *

**A/N: **In the risk of boring you all to death, I have to warn you that Dover does require some small set up (job...house...etc) before we start rolling down the road towards completion. 


	35. In Harmony

In Harmony

Andrew Crawford proved a valuable acquaintance to the Rousseaus, as he was not only a fair and generous employer, but was a man that Erik could actually respect. Crawford had even manage to provide Erik with a strange reversal of roles. The older man had never once seemed to spare a glance at Erik's mask, always meeting his eyes evenly without flinching, yet Erik's gaze had drifted more than once to the cane and the limp. The action had not gone unnoticed by his employer, and Crawford had amiably broached the subject.

"It's wooden, my boy."

Erik's eyes had shot up at the statement. "Excuse me?"

"My leg. I've caught the curiosity in your eyes. It's quite all right, I am used to such things. I suspect perhaps you are, as well." Erik colored, but he found that his temper, for once, did not ignite. Crawford continued on, "I was thrown from a horse as a child, a rather nasty fall. My leg was twisted under me, the bone shattered and skin gashed open. The doctors tried to save it…though the limb would have been rather useless regardless. When infection set in, they'd no choice but to take it." He reached down and lifted his pant leg a bit, showing the polished wood beneath and giving it a playful knock with the end of his cane. "It is mostly just for show, to ease the simple minds of others. I'd much rather burn the damned thing and be done with it."

Erik's fingers absently lifted to trace the edge of his mask. "Forgive me…I should not have…"

"Nonsense!" Crawford laughed, patting Erik on the shoulder. "It does not matter, Erik. The measure of a man lays in his heart and mind."

Erik nodded absently, shaken more than he'd cared to admit by Crawford's words. When he had later told Christine of the conversation, she had smiled through a sheen of tears, telling Erik that she'd very much like to meet Mr. Crawford because she already adored him. She would enlist anyone she could to show Erik the true beauty of his soul, and she was grateful that God had led her husband to Andrew Crawford.

And Erik was grateful that Andrew Crawford led him to the perfect house for Christine. At the discovery that he was seeking to purchase a residence for his young wife, Crawford had personally driven him to a property he'd been aware of. The small manor was nicely situated close to the shore just off Barton Back on the road to Canterbury. The previous owner had passed on, and with no heir to inherit, the house had been recently been placed for sale.

The structure was hidden from the main road, surrounded by trees and greenery, with a stone wall lining the drive. The house was more than large enough to meet the needs of a newly married couple and a growing family, and even had enough space to welcome a guest or two, as well. The grounds to the rear were exquisite, with a garden, a small orchard, and a view of the beach and ocean that lay only a short walk away. Erik knew at once that it was meant for Christine.

Still, he had thought twice before acting, wanting to make certain she would approve, as he'd not really done well when he'd tried to make decisions for her in the past. In this case, however, he'd have had better luck, because the moment Christine had seen the house for herself, she had fallen in love with it. Her expression held the same wonderment that Erik had seen when he'd first showed her his home under the opera. His wife had wanted the house, and Erik made certain that she would have it.

Once again, Mr. Crawford had aided his employee, having been acquainted with the barrister who'd handled the Howard estate. The sale was hastened through, with Crawford acting as a reference, and the Rousseaus had been able to move into their new home in a few short weeks.

The house had been cared for in its vacancy by the former housekeeper of Mr. Howard, a woman named Katie Callahan. Christine and Erik had met the woman when they had first toured the house, and Christine had instantly liked her. It seemed natural that they should ask her to stay on, though Erik was wary of such a thing. He'd never been the master of a house, and hated the idea of having anyone under foot. Yet he knew they would need someone to run the household, and he could not bring himself to deny Christine something she wanted. Katie had happily accepted the position.

The woman was kind and unobtrusive, careful to respect her mistress's instruction to mind her husband's privacy above all else. Katie was familiar with eccentric employers, and she secretly doubted that her new master could match some of the strange requests that Mr. Howard had made of her. She was pleased to be able to stay on with the young mistress, especially with a little one on the way. It had been years since she'd held a baby, and she was looking forward to having the pleasure once again.

Christine was decidedly relieved to finally move out of the Gate Inn. She could barely contain her excitement at spending the first night in _her_ house, with _her _husband. After supper, they had retired to the music room, though it was not yet completely furnished. It had been a necessity for both of them to devote one room in their home to the passion for music they both shared. Christine had been away from the stage only a short time, but already she missed it more than she'd imagined she could. Yet her longing was nothing compared to Erik's need to have his music once again. She had watched him eyeing the piano at the Gate Inn, but he had refused to play in so public a setting. His music was far too passionate in nature for the confines of a quaint English tavern.

Now, sitting beside him at the polished ebony piano, she felt the familiar magic surging through her blood once again. Erik had played the aria from _Hannibal_ for her, bidding her to sing it for him. She cringed a little at first, hearing how her voice had suffered from lack of use these past weeks, and she suspected her pregnancy might be having some affect, as well. She was just beginning to show a little, and the new weight on her diaphragm gave her a bit of trouble reaching some of the notes.

Erik had certainly noticed, but he'd not slipped back into the role of strict tutor. He was far too content at the moment just to hear her sing for him again. There would be time later to retrain her voice, to prepare her for a return to the opera. And she would return. He would make certain of that. He stroked his fingers over the keys of the piano lovingly as he slipped from _Think of Me _into his _Music of the Night. _It was a fine instrument, nowhere near the grandeur of his pipe organ, but one must learn to make due. As he sang, he felt Christine inch closer to him on the bench, one curious little hand brushing over his back and curling into his hair. The other skimming over his thigh. He turned his gaze towards her, pleased to see her dark eyes glittering with desire. 

'Floating, falling, sweet intoxication  
Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.'

Christine did just that, tracing her hand lovingly over his face.

'Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in.'

A wicked smile curved her lips as the hand on his thigh inched higher.

'To the power of the music that I write.  
The power of the music of the night…'

Christine leaned forward, nipping at Erik's jaw.

'You alone can make my song take flight.  
Help me make the music of the night.'

Her mouth was pressed to his even as the last note faded. Erik growled low in his throat, the combination of that song in this house with his wife intensifying his desire. He reached down and lifted her against him, shifting them as best he could until she was half across his lap on the narrow bench, one strong arm snaked around her waist to hold her securely to him. He deepened the kiss, tangling his free hand into her silken curls.

Christine tugged at his cravat until it was loose and she pulled it away, dropping it carelessly to the floor. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, spreading open the edges. Wicked thoughts of him taking her right here next to the piano filled her mind. Erik uncurled his fingers from her hair, trailing them slowly down, over the wildly jumping pulse at her throat, the curve her collar, skimming the swell of her breast. Christine tore her mouth from his, hissing in pleasure. She felt wild tonight, nearly out of control.

Squirming on his lap, she freed herself momentarily from his hold and stood. Erik's eyes darkened as he reached for her again, "Christine?" She lightly batted his hand away and, with a wicked smile, she lifted her skirts enough to straddled his legs as he sat on the bench. A stunned smile curved his mouth at her bold action, and she bent to kiss him again. Her position allowed her to finish opening his waistcoat and shirt, and she tugged at them until Erik helped her by shrugging them off completely. She raked her nails lightly over his back as she reigned little kisses across his jaw and down to his shoulder. His muscles tensed and rippled under her touch. "Oh, Christine, mon ange, mon amour."

His hands wrested the silk fabric of her blouse free from her skirt and tore the buttons open, sliding up to cup her breasts. Christine had stopped wearing a corset two weeks ago at Erik's insistence, and only the thin material of her chemise separated her flesh from his. Yet that small barrier was suddenly too much. Erik became aware that as enticing as this position was, logistically, it simply did not permit him to love her as he ached to. He tucked his hands firmly under Christine and stood, kicking the piano bench back as he did so.

The only other pieces of furniture in the room were a window bench and a small chaise in the far corner. He could carry her upstairs to their bedroom, mindless of their state of undress, but even that seemed too far away at the moment. He turned and settled Christine onto the chaise, and she gazed up at him with passion in her eyes. Erik made quick work of removing the last scraps of clothing from her body. Before he could straighten to see to his own, Christine came to her knees, hooking her fingers into the waist of his trousers and tugging him forward. "Come here, Erik."

His elegant black brow arched, but he obeyed his wife's command, settling his body across the length of the chaise as Christine shifted over him. Her wild curls fell in a curtain around her face as she leaned forward to kiss him. She evaded his arms when he tried to pull her closer, instead slipping down his body and slowly stripping away his trousers and shoes. She came back to him with a smile, teasing him with little kisses to his chest and jaw, causing Erik to groan and curl his fingers tightly around her hips.

Laying her hands against his chest, Christine sat up astride him, sinking down slowly to take him inside. His eyes glazed slightly as he stared up at her, thinking she seemed a goddess in that moment. Her skin glowed golden in the flickering lamplight. Her lips parted and swollen from his kisses, her eyes dark and glistening with desire, and her body lush and ripening with the child she carried. Erik traced his hands across her skin, learning the curve of her belly with his fingers. Christine smiled down at him, her luminous eyes falling closed as she began to move.

They surrendered to the matchless delight of becoming one body, one heart, one soul. Time lost meaning, the evening darkening around them…the very stars themselves could have fallen from the sky…all that mattered to Erik and Christine was the world they created inside that room. A world that trembled, erupted in a fiery explosion of light and darkness, and finally grew still and quiet again.

It was a very long time later before the master and mistress of the house would emerge from the music room, half dressed, and sneak upstairs to give their bedroom equal attention.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, they had to christen the house properly, right? 


	36. In Society

In Society

For a short time, Christine's new life in Dover seemed almost idyllic. A few days after settling into their house, she finally sat down and composed two letters, one for Madame Giry and another for Meg. She'd written them a rather hasty note upon arriving, just to let them know that she and Erik had safely reached their destination. Now she was able to fully put all that had happened in the past weeks into words.

To Madame, she relayed many of her fears in this new life, asking for the advice any daughter would ask of a mother. To Meg, Christine finally confessed her pregnancy. She'd not found the courage to tell her before leaving Paris, and Christine knew that Madame would never have betrayed such a secret. It had been silly really, to keep it from Meg, but she'd not wanted her friend to think badly of her, or worry unnecessarily. Yet Christine so wanted them both with her when she grew near her time.

She had not made many friends thus far in Dover, and her tentative friendship with Ann Beaumont had been cut short when the girl and her relatives had moved along to the next town on their holiday excursion. The need for her to socialize with someone other than her husband and housekeeper fairly burned within her.

So when Mr. Crawford unexpectedly called on them in their new home, Christine was grateful for the company. She had met Erik's employer only once, very briefly, when he'd stopped by the inn, but she had immediately liked the man. They sat and chatted awhile about the house, and while Erik remained civil enough, Christine could sense his displeasure. She was puzzled by it, as she knew Erik had no ill feelings toward Mr. Crawford. She could only guess that he was uncomfortable at having his home invaded without his consent.

Christine soon came to know, however, that her husband's uneasiness stemmed from something else entirely.

"I am hoping, Mrs. Rousseau, that I might finally be able to convince you to accept an invitation to supper. I understand that you have been somewhat ill recently, but seeing you now, I daresay you seem in excellent health. Do you think you might be up for an outing?"

Christine sat gaping at Mr. Crawford, her eyes drifting over to Erik in mild confusion. She realized at once that he was on the razor's edge of his temper. And suddenly, she was, as well. She had not been recently ill, other than the normal occasional symptoms of her pregnancy, and she resented being used as an excuse for Erik to reject this man's kind invitation. The next words out of her mouth were certain to displease him even more, but she refused to cater to Erik's need for solitude when she was in such need of escaping it.

"I do believe I feel most able to accept your kind invitation, Monsieur Crawford."

Crawford smiled happily, "Excellent. My wife and daughter are most eager to meet you both. Would tomorrow evening be suitable?"

Erik leaned forward to refuse, "I don't…"

"Tomorrow would be perfect, Monsieur." Christine smoothly cut her husband off. She could sense his anger, and tried her best to ignore it. After a few more pleasant words with Mr. Crawford out, Christine politely saw him to the door.

The moment the older gentleman was gone, Erik was grabbing her hand and dragging her roughly into the parlor, closing the door behind them so that Katie would not interrupt. "What do you think you are doing, Christine? Why did you accept his invitation without even asking me?"

She drew a breath, gently rubbing her wrist where Erik had gripped her. "Apparently you have refused him without asking me."

He growled at her, "I have my reasons for that!"

"Enlighten me."

Erik took several steps toward her, his eyes blazing with anger, and Christine stepped back instinctively, her back bumping up against the wall. He stopped, shaking his head, "Do you know what it is like for me, Christine? To walk amongst the crowds and see every face full of distrust? Full of fear? Do you know what it takes for me to keep from showing them what fear truly is? To behave myself as a _respectable_ man…_for you_? Must I be forced to perform to strangers for your entertainment?"

Christine brushed at her tears, meeting Erik's fiery gaze evenly. "Monsieur Crawford is not a stranger, and he does not look at you in pity or in fear."

He scoffed, "I doubt his family will be as accepting, and even if they are, I have no desire to scrape and bow to them!"

"And what of my desire, Erik? Or am I to stay shut up in this house with no friends for the rest of my days?"

Erik recoiled, his face going slack, "You are not a prisoner here."

"Nor are you! Yet you would deny us both the chance to truly have a life here…to live as everyone else does."

He laughed without humor, "We will never live as everyone else does. Yet you seem determined to play these little games of make-believe regardless of my feelings." Erik moved to the door, gripping the knob tightly. "You will have your damned outing, Christine!" He threw the door open. "But do not ever think to force my hand again." He stormed out of the parlor, leaving Christine in tears. A moment later, the door of the music room slammed shut and the angry chords of the piano filled the air.

xXx

Erik had not joined his wife in their bed that night, nor had he seen her in the morning before disappearing into town. He kept himself in check in his dealings with Crawford, but his mind kept returning to the previous evening.

You are truly a bastard, Erik.

He'd lost his temper with her again, and made her suffer for the sins that were his own. He'd refused Crawford's invitations repeatedly and never once mentioned them to Christine. He had simply not wanted to have to answer the questions he'd known would come in such a circumstance. At the inn, it had been easy enough to disappear into their room and simply ignore those around him while Christine socialized with the other guests. She'd been happy enough to have the company and the distraction of a few nearby shops.

Now his wife was removed from that daily bustle, and he had only to face Mr. Crawford, a few engineers and an occasional contractor. Even then, Erik's time in the office was limited. Most of his work…the calculations and plans…could be done from his home, and it suited him. Crawford had never asked any questions about Erik's past, and those other fools he was forced to deal with tended to keep their exposure to him very brief.

The truth of the matter was that Erik had never had supper with _anyone _but Christine. He was not prepared to engage in polite conversation anymore than he was prepared to provide answers about his mask, his marriage, or his past. A lifetime of hiding was difficult to leave behind. Yet Christine had no reason to hide. She longed for companionship, and Erik had been cruel not to allow her the opportunity to make some friends. Especially now that she was growing ever closer to her confinement. She'd want someone who might come to visit her from time to time before Madame Giry was able to leave Paris.

Erik smiled a little to himself, thinking of Antoinette. She would surely rake him over the coals were she here now to see his behavior. Christine had been right. He was denying them their chance to start anew by holding onto the past, but embracing the future proved more difficult than he'd imagined.

xXx

Dinner at the Crawford home was a trial by fire for Erik, and Christine was painfully aware of it. He'd made a rather insincere apology upon arriving home, and promised to try his best at supper. Christine had forgiven him, but had not been able to forget the pain he'd caused her. Not because he had lost his temper once again, nor even for the hurtful words he'd flung at her, but because he had kept himself locked away from her all night and left in the morning without a word. She had spent the entire day secretly terrified that he would not be coming back.

The tension between them had been a living, breathing thing, even before they had arrived at the Crawford's fine manor. Mr. Crawford was perfectly amiable, and his wife, Sarah, was a lovely woman. She seemed bit younger than her husband, probably close to Madame Giry's age. Indeed, she reminded Christine a great deal of her foster mother. They had the same knowing sparkle in their eyes, giving one the impression of keen intelligence. The Crawford's daughter, Victoria, was only a year older than Christine with her father's hazel eyes, and the red-gold hair of her mother. She seemed a little shy, but there was nothing but kindness in her gaze when she looked upon Erik.

Perhaps Mr. Crawford had warned his family beforehand, or perhaps they simply did not care at all about the mask. Had it been just the five of them for supper, the evening might be perfectly enjoyable. Unfortunately, Victoria had a young suitor named Edward Markham who was brash and somewhat unthinking. His dark hair was combed impeccably back and his gray eyes fastened immediately onto Erik's mask. The first words out of his mouth set the tone for the evening.

"A mask, eh? What happened?"

In the middle of a polite handshake, Erik's fist tightened around the boy's fingers until Markham was visibly flinching. Christine laid her own hand over her husband's forearm until Erik released his grip.

Crawford frowned at the young man, "Really, Edward…sometimes I wonder at your manners. I am very sorry, Erik. Edward tends to speak before he thinks."

Erik merely nodded, still glaring at the boy. Yet the question had been posed, and it hung out there, clearly sparking the curiosity of all in the room. Gritting his teeth, he chose to give them the story Christine had told in Calais. It would not do to give them any means of connecting him to the Phantom of the Opera, should the story ever find its way to England. "An injury in service of France. A…burn from a misfired rifle."

The Crawford ladies both shuddered slightly, Mr. Crawford nodded, but the damnable boy pressed on again. "Must have been painful."

Christine tugged on her husband's arm, stopping the retort she could feel coming. "Monsieur Markham, please…I simply cannot bear to relive such a terrible time in my husband's life."

Edward blushed then, smiling coyly at Christine. "Forgive me, Madame. I certainly would not wish to cause you any pain."

She smiled gratefully at him, and then turned to see Erik watching her disapprovingly. Her smile fell away at once, realizing that his anger was suddenly laced with jealousy.

Edward Markham did not improve upon better acquaintance, continuing the entire evening to make rather baneful comments at inappropriate times. Christine had caught him staring at her more than once, and her eyes would dart first to Erik, who certainly noticed every look, then to Victoria, who seemed either ignorant of her suitor's actions or accepting of them. Christine found herself wondering what a lovely young woman like Victoria Crawford could possibly see in Edward Markham.

He is such a…fop.

Oh, lord…did I really just think that?

After supper, Crawford bid Erik to step outside on the veranda with him whilst he enjoyed a cigar, and Edward had dutifully gone along. Christine caught the look of utter contempt on Erik's face, and he turned back to her with a raised brow as if to ask if she was happy he was being put through this for her sake. She offered him a crooked smile and mouthed the words _I'm sorry._

Yet she genuinely enjoyed the moments that followed in the company of Sarah and Victoria Crawford. They sat to have coffee, and Sarah smiled warmly at Christine. "You may think me rather forward, my dear, and please feel free to tell me if I am overstepping my bounds, but I simply must ask if you are expecting."

Christine caught her breath, her eyes dropping down briefly. Of course she'd known her pregnancy was beginning to show, but she'd not thought it to be so very obvious yet. She silently cursed Erik for insisting that she forgo her corset. Sighing, she nodded slightly, "Yes, Madame."

Sarah's eyes lit with excitement, "Oh, that is simply wonderful…and you must call me Sarah. Andrew and I had been quite concerned when your husband kept turning down our invitations due to your health, but seeing you tonight…well, I had my suspicions." Christine forced her smile to stay in place at the mention of Erik's lie. "Tell me, have you any family that will come to stay with you during your confinement?"

Christine glanced briefly toward the veranda doors, wondering how much she should say. There really was no reason not to tell the truth in this instance. "I have no family left, but I have a foster mother and foster sister whom I hope will be able to come. "

Sarah nodded, "Good, good. Of course, you may count on me for anything you need in the meantime. Victoria, as well."

Victoria smiled shyly and nodded, "Yes, Christine. I would be most happy to come and visit with you often."

The conversation proceeded on, and Christine could almost imagine she was sitting with Meg and Madame again, although Victoria Crawford was quite the opposite in personality from her dear Meg. When the men came back in from the veranda, Christine could see that Erik had reached his limit. At least Edward Markham was still breathing. She reached out to take his hand, smiling up to him, "I am afraid I am feeling rather tired, Erik."

She watched his rigid posture sag in relief, "Of course, my dear." He turned to Mr. Crawford. "If you will excuse us, I really must escort my wife home. It has been a…pleasant evening."

As the carriage made its way towards their house, Christine settled herself close to Erik, looping her arm through his and leaning against him. "I am sorry, Erik. I know tonight was uncomfortable for you."

He sighed heavily, "Do you approve of the ladies, mon ange?"

Her lips curled slightly, "I do. They are both quite lovely."

"Then we shall count tonight a success."

Christine closed her eyes and snuggled even closer to her husband. Another step forward. This was progress.

xXx

Edward Markham had expended a great deal of effort to place himself in the good graces of Andrew Crawford. He'd not had the talent to earn a position as an architect, having to settle instead for a job as an accountant. Yet he had possessed the charm and good looks to turn the head of Victoria Crawford. Victoria was sweet and unassuming, shy and terribly unaware of her own beauty. She would make the perfect wife, and perfectly position Edward to one day inherit Crawford's wealth.

The appearance of Erik Rousseau on the scene had, at first, posed only a mild irritation to Edward. Yet seeing Crawford fawn all over the masked man at supper had given Edward some cause for concern. He'd been overlooked and ignored by the man whose blessing he sought, all for the sake of a man who fairly radiated danger. And then there was that mask. Edward had let the explanation of a 'war' injury pass, but there was something tickling around the edge of his memory. A story he'd heard several months before from one of the French sailors at the pub. Of course, Edward had been slightly less than sober at the time, but he recalled something about a masked man and a Parisian opera house. Strange that a masked Frenchman would show up on Crawford's doorstep. If he could only hear that story again without the haze of alcohol clouding his mind…

* * *

**A/N: **A little trouble may be on the horizon. 

A brief note about the date--while the movie chose 1870 to set the events of the story, I choose to ignore that due to the fact that Paris was under siege at the time and wouldn't have been worried about the Phantom at all. The book was set later, 1880s, and I prefer to think of the story happening closer to that time. So Erik's 'injury' in the servie of France could have done well as an explanation.


	37. In Motion

In Motion

In the weeks that followed the dinner with the Crawfords, both Sarah and Victoria were true to their promise to call on Christine. Victoria, especially, visited often, and Christine found that she could be quite content to have the young woman as a friend. While Victoria was rather quiet by nature, she was also very well read and a great lover of art and music. She had been very happy to find the piano in the Rousseau home and discover that Christine had grown up in an opera house. Christine had admitted to being in the corps de ballet and the chorus, yet she'd not told Victoria of her moments at center stage, thinking it best keep certain details of her past more closely guarded.

Erik approved of his wife's new friend, even if he loathed her taste in suitors. Thankfully, Edward Markham had not darkened the doorstep of the Rousseau house. If he had, Erik could not have promised the self-absorbed little twit would have been able to leave under his own power. Even the benign presence of Victoria Crawford had, at first, set Erik on edge, and he had disappeared into the solitude of his office.

He could never be quite certain how it had happened, but on Victoria's third visit, she and Christine had persuaded him to play one of his pieces for them. He'd agreed only to appease his wife, and perhaps Ms. Crawford's exceptional knowledge of composers had impressed him. Only slightly, of course. Feeling rather wicked, he'd started into the opening chords of the duet from _Don Juan Triumphant _and Christine had quickly stopped him. _'Not that one,' _she'd said, but the smile on her face had betrayed her amusement. He'd chosen something more appropriate for Victoria's benefit, and had been pleased to see the girl close her eyes and allow the melody to take her.

While Erik found he could tolerate the Crawfords, he still resisted the trappings of society in general. He also continued to resist sharing in Christine's unparalleled joy over her pregnancy. He had moments, of course. Moments when the light of hope would bloom in his chest and he'd imagine that everything would be perfect. Then his doubts would crash back in on him. He would start to think again of the possibility of his child inheriting his face. Yet even that fear paled in comparison to the others that assaulted him almost daily. Christine's own mother had died in childbirth, and the possibility of losing his angel to the same cruel fate was never far from Erik's mind. Nor was the possibility that they could lose the child. Or that Erik could lose both of them.

It were those dark thoughts that kept him from sharing Christine's good spirits when she dragged him into the one remaining room in the house that stood bare of any furnishings. Of course, he'd known why Christine had not yet filled it. She intended it to be a nursery. The only thing in the room at the moment was a small stool, on top of which were swatches of cloth in an array of colors.

Into her fifth month, the child was obvious in the noticeable curve of her mother's belly. Christine's loose fitting house dress did little to conceal her rounded figure, and she smiled as she reached for the scraps of cloth, holding them up to the wall for Erik's inspection. "What do you think, my love? I am partial to the pale blue, but perhaps the yellow…?"

Erik sighed, "Your daughter will not approve of blue."

Christine grinned, "_I _am rather fond of the blue. Besides, it may be yet be a son."

"No." He grimaced at his own clipped tone, and he saw his wife's smile droop slightly. He shook his head and attempted to placate her. "Choose whatever color you wish, Christine. It is entirely your decision."

All traces of her happiness fell away at once and her eyes glistened with moisture. "It is _our_ decision, Erik."

He drew a breath, "We've more important things to worry about than what color to paint this blasted room!"

The tears spilled over and Christine dropped the strips of fabric onto the floor, brushing past him wordlessly and heading toward their bedroom. Erik cursed himself and rushed after her.

"Christine…"

He closed a hand around her arm, and she spun on him with eyes flashing. "Damn you! Curse you! You selfish, heartless, bastard! Do you think I don't worry about the same things that you do? Do you think that I'm not afraid? I am terrified, Erik! But I will not curl up into a ball and wallow in my fear. I need to know that you are here with me. If you cannot…" Her words died on a shocked gasp as she bent forward slightly and her hand flew up to her stomach.

Erik's heart lurched and he gripped her elbows in fear. "Christine? What is wrong? Are you well? Is it…is it…?"

She huffed out a breath as her dazed eyes flew up to his, "Yes…" Erik went pale, a look of sheer terror on his face, and Christine shook her head quickly, "No…no, Erik…nothing is wrong…it's only…" A wonder-filled smiled curved her mouth and she gabbed one of Erik's hands to press it against her. "She does not approve of her parents arguing."

Dread still pumping through his veins, it took Erik a moment to register the distinctive fluttering against his hand. He caught his breath, going completely still and not even daring to breath. The rolling motion continued under his palm and he felt the impact of that simple movement like a bullet through his system.

My child, alive and moving within Christine.

Alive.

He simply did not have the words. He'd never before been able to feel the child within her, though she had tried once or twice to guide his hand to the first gentle stirrings she'd felt. He could feel the tears on his face, spilling from beneath the edge of his mask. Something very much like joy took hold of him and would not let go. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. He felt Christine's small hand on his cheek, wiping at his tears. Only when the movement under his hand finally ceased, did he speak again.

"I…think the blue is a fine choice, mon ange."

Christine pulled Erik's arms fully around her, pressing against him. The anger and pain of his seeming indifference faded in the comfort of his embrace. She could feel his love for her…for _them_…even when he made it nearly impossible.

He was here with her, and she knew that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

xXx

After the _incident _with the nursery, things settled down for a short time. Christine wrote again to Meg and Madame, happily telling them both of the progress she and Erik were making in their new life. She'd been relieved at the last exchange to learn from Meg that Raoul had not gone to any extremes after her departure from Paris. While Christine still battled a great deal of guilt and regret at the pain she had caused her childhood sweetheart, she was pleased to know that he doing well.

The replies that were returned from Paris upon the most recent correspondence brought Christine a great deal of happiness, and only a small amount of melancholy. Madame Giry had written that she would be booking passage to England in several weeks, but she also expressed a great deal of her own concern over the state of Meg's affairs. According to Madame, Christine's friend had acquired a suitor in the form of the new owner of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Jean Ranier. Madame clearly did not approve of the man at all, and hoped to bring Meg to England with her in order for Christine to talk some sense into her daughter. Christine had found that rather ironic, considering her own less than stellar romantic history.

Meg's letter had not eased Christine's mind much. Her friend had mentioned Monsieur Ranier, as well, and her tone had not seemed one of infatuation with the man. Still, Meg had admitted to several dinners and knowledge that Ranier's intentions were not entirely honorable. It was clear that the acquaintance was troubling Meg, though she really had not said much about her own feelings on the matter.

The last several lines of her friend's letter caught Christine's attention and she stifled a laugh. She looked up to see Erik watching her in amusement and she smiled at him. "Erik, you must listen to what Meg has written. Apparently the new owner of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Ranier, is…" She glanced down to the letter, reading the lines, "ah, yes…_adeptly stealing the best performers from all over Paris. He has even mentioned his disappointment at finding the Opera House devoid of its infamous ghost. It seems he had been looking forward to the Phantom's presence…Box five is to remain empty, just in case._" Christine looked at Erik again, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she quoted the last of Meg's letter. "_Perhaps Erik might like his old job back."_

Erik sat back in his chair, a chuckle escaping him as Christine gave into fits of laughter.

"I think I might like this Monsieur Ranier. Perhaps I shall accept his kind invitation one day."

Christine's laughter gradually trailed off, and a wistful look of longing glistened in her eyes. Yet she did not give it voice. They both wished for nothing more than to be back in Paris, but they both knew it simply wasn't possible.

Neither of them could have realized that the past was about to catch up with them once again.

xXx

It had taken Edward Markham much longer than he'd expected to find someone familiar with the ghost story he was in search of, and when he finally did, he was told such a strange tale that he hardly knew what to make of it. The Rousseaus were very much an enigma to him, and he knew only the few insignificant things he'd learned upon their one and only supper together, and the additional little details that Victoria had let slip about her new friend, Christine. The mysterious Mr. Rousseau was rarely in Crawford's office, and Edward had seen him in passing only once as he'd come to examine the books. Yet the few facts he did know seemed to match almost exactly to the story, and the similarities simply could not be ignored.

He'd not really pursued any of this until Victoria had forced his hand with her increasing aloofness. She was slightly cold by nature to begin with, but she'd been growing less inclined to spend time with him in the recent weeks. He could clearly date it back to her introduction to the Rousseaus. She'd not been happy with his perceived lapse in manners, and she'd made him very aware of it. Though she'd seemed to forgive him, her delight in his company diminished, and as of late, she was far more content to spend much of her time with Mrs. Rousseau. Christine.

And Erik. Victoria seemed almost as enchanted with the man as her father clearly was. Edward had been so very close to securing Crawford's blessing to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage, and now he was nearly right back where he'd begun. He was certain he could regain his ground, however, once he removed Victoria's new friend from the equation.

How fortuitous that he now had in his possession the information to accomplish his goal. He could gain Crawford's respect and bring a disillusioned Victoria running back to him, all with one clean blow. Edward grinned slyly as he was shown into Andrew Crawford's private office.

Crawford smiled thinly, sighing in resignation at the presence of the boy before him. "Edward, what might I do for you today?"

Settling into the chair opposite the older man, Edward's grin turned cold, "I believe there is something that I might do for you, Mr. Crawford."

* * *

**A/N:** Uh oh, the angst is back. To those who commented...yes, Edward is proving to be a potential problem. What will Mr. Crawford do? 


	38. In Judgment

In Judgment

"Erik…might I have a word with you?"

Laying his plans aside, Erik rose and made his way into Mr. Crawford's office. He was spending a rare morning in the office, and he'd not yet seen much of his employer. The strained look in the older man's eyes sent a feeling of foreboding through Erik as he sat wordlessly across from Crawford and waited.

Crawford sat heavily in his chair, folding his hands and staring intently at Erik. He drew a harsh breath, "The subject I must broach with you is not a pleasant one. I am hoping, however, that we might be able to discuss this as gentlemen." Erik's knuckles grew white as he gripped the arms of his chair. "I have been recently told a…most unfortunate tale…and I am not entirely certain what to make of it. Of course, I did a small bit of research on my own before coming to you with this, and what I discovered would seem to validate what I have been told." Crawford shook his head, sighing in frustration, "I've no other way than to simply ask you. Have you any connection to that Phantom that the Paris authorities were after this past winter?"

My lasso. I need it. I…

Erik expelled a shaky breath, his jaw setting into a hard line. He'd known this would come. Known he couldn't escape the past. He pushed up out of his seat abruptly, his hands clenched into fists and a scowl on his face. For one brief moment, Crawford's eyes flashed with fear. Erik did not say a word, merely spun around and left the office, gathered his case and headed towards the stable where his horse was tethered. His mind was blank…he had not a plan nor a plot to fall back on. He had allowed himself to relax and now he would pay for his carelessness.

He'd just mounted his stallion when Andrew Crawford appeared beside the animal, grabbing the reins. Erik looked down at the man and growled, "You'd best step away or you will come to regret it."

Crawford lifted his cane and quickly poked it into Erik's chest, "Stop acting like a fool, my boy, and get down off that horse. We've not finished our conversation."

Erik shoved the cane away, leaning down towards Crawford, "I think we are quite finished, Mr. Crawford. Now leave off or I will run you over."

Crawford tugged on the reins, "Then so be it, but I do not think Christine will approve."

"Do _not_ speak of her!"

"Will you drag her away to some new city, or will you stay here and let me help you?"

Erik's brows went up in surprise, his scowl fading into a blank look. "Help me?"

Crawford raised a singular brow. "Would you care to finish our conversation now?"

xXx

Ten minutes later they were back in Crawford's office, sitting across from one another once again. Erik knew it wasn't wise, the man could have the police coming at this very moment, but in the end he thought it best to be arrested here rather than in front of Christine. "You wished to talk…so talk."

Crawford sighed, "I was rather hoping you would talk to me, my boy. I only have a story which is likely heavily altered for the sake of drama, and a small newspaper article from February which tells of a fire at the Opera Populaire. As you might imagine, the English papers are never overly concerned with the happenings in France. I believe it was only the strange circumstances that even warranted the incident a mention here."

Erik grimaced, "I suspect the dramatic story you have heard is likely close enough to the truth."

Crawford nodded, "You haunted the Opera House."

"Yes."

"You…murdered two men."

"Two men at the opera, yes."

There was a long drawn out silence before Crawford spoke again. "You kidnapped the soprano, Christine Daaé ."

Erik turned his face away. "Yes."

Crawford nodded again, "Yet the story neglected to say that you married her."

Erik's eyes snapped back to Crawford. "She is innocent in this."

Crawford leaned back against his chair and tilted his head slightly as he continued to study the man before him. "She is a remarkable young woman, Erik, and she clearly loves you. I do not pretend to understand your history, nor am I at all certain that I wish to, but I see before me a man with a promising future."

Erik frowned at Crawford, his brow dropping in confusion. "What do you intend to do?"

Crawford shrugged, "According to the story, the Phantom of the Opera is dead. I have no proof that he is otherwise."

Erik stared in stunned disbelief. "You mean to tell me that you will not turn me over to the police?"

The older man laughed a little, "I hardly think the Dover police would give two spits about you, and I've no intention of notifying the French authorities of anything."

Erik dazedly shook his head. "I…" He broke off, not knowing what to say. Crawford had surprised him. He drew a deep breath and nodded briefly to the man. "Thank you, sir. I assure you that you that I will be gone from Dover as soon as I can arrange…"

"Bloody hell you will, boy! You've a project to finish."

Erik stopped. "But…I thought…"

"You thought incorrectly, Erik." Crawford frowned then, shaking his head, "But perhaps you should return home for the rest of the afternoon. I must attend to the small matter of the person who alerted me to your identity."

Erik's eyes narrowed. He'd been so focused on Crawford he'd nearly overlooked the fact that someone else knew the truth. "Who?"

Crawford's frowned deepened, "I'd prefer not to give you that information, you understand."

Erik stood, leaning over the desk with murder in his eyes, "_You_ understand, I cannot simply let this go."

Crawford sighed, "I think he meant only to stir up trouble for his own selfish gains, else he'd have gone to the police himself instead of coming to me first."

"And what will stop this man from going to the police now?"

Crawford waived a hand, "He has no proof. You are an up-and-coming architect, with a loving wife and a child on the way. Do not underestimate the presence of Christine at your side, Erik. I doubt many would believe that such a lovely creature would willingly marry the very criminal reputed to have terrorized and kidnapped her."

Erik swallowed heavily, "Yet that is exactly what she did, Mr. Crawford."

The older man shook his head adamantly, "No, my boy. She married Erik Rousseau, not the Phantom of the Opera. Do not resurrect that being now. Let me try to help you in my own way before you do something you will come to regret."

Erik wanted to rail at the man, to grab his lasso, or a sword, and put an end to this threat on his happiness. Yet he could do no such thing without putting an end to the man before him, as well, and Crawford had been nothing but kind to him. He did not have any desire to repay the man with violence, and doing so would make Erik a wanted man in England. Where would he take Christine then?

Erik hung his head, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. He would grudgingly agree to allow Crawford a chance, but he would be ready. "You will…inform me immediately if you are unable to contain this situation. I _will _take Christine away from here before I allow her to see blood on my hands once again."

Crawford nodded solemnly, "I will, Erik. One day…that is all I shall need."

xXx

Informing Christine of the day's events had not been a pleasant affair. She'd dissolved into tears, at once terrified of losing Erik, and just as terrified that he would revert to violence again. He attempted to reassure her as best he could, but his darker thoughts would not be quieted. He felt like a stranger in his own skin…walking the thin line between the monster he had been and the man he had nearly become.

"I have not killed anyone yet, mon ange. Mr. Crawford asked for one day, and I have granted it to him. However, I doubt very much he shall be able to divert this situation. We may need to leave Dover rather quickly."

Christine tightened her arms around Erik, whispering, "Where? Where will we go?"

Erik sighed, "I don't know. We could attempt to stay in England, or perhaps we should try Sweden. What do think of that? You'd like to return to your homeland, would you not?"

Christine sobbed against his chest, "I like it here, Erik. I do not wish to run anymore."

He closed his eyes against the pain of her words, his own arms tightening fractionally. Between them, their daughter was adding her own opinion with a flurry of movement within her mother's womb. When he spoke, his tone was soft, nearly defeated, "What will you have me do, Christine? You already know I would kill for you…but I will lay down my very life if you ask it of me."

"Is there any chance…any at all…that Monsieur Crawford can help us?"

Erik stroked his wife's hair. "I suppose there is always a chance, mon ange, else we certainly would not even be here together at this moment."

Christine pulled back to look into his eyes, which were nearly as red and worried as her own. "If…if he cannot…then I will follow wherever you lead me, Erik. Until there is no longer breath in my body."

xXx

Andrew Crawford called on Edward Markham the very evening of his discussion with Erik, hoping to diffuse the situation the foolish boy had created. Andrew's own past had been less than exemplary, and there were mistakes he had made that he dearly wished could be undone. He'd had the benefit of a rather wealthy family to clean up his youthful indiscretions, though they'd not involved any of the things Erik had admitted to. Suffice to say, the loss of Andrew's leg had made him an angry young man and he'd not outgrown the temperament until he'd met his Sarah. Love could do wonders for a man's disposition.

Erik and his young wife deserved a chance at happiness, and Andrew would be damned if he would let that greedy little ponce cause more trouble than he had already. He'd never liked Markham, and had only stomached him for the sake of his daughter. Victoria had been a backwards child and she had never made friends easily. She'd not had a suitor until Markham came to call, and she'd been so happy to have Edward's attention, begging her father to allow the young man to court her. Only for the sake of his daughter had Andrew overlooked a great deal of Edward's shortcomings. In the past months, however, his daughter had been coming out of her shell. She spoke endlessly of her conversations with Christine, and of listening to Erik's music. Andrew had heard Erik play once, as well, and he'd been awed by it. Knowing the man's history seemed to click the last pieces of the puzzle into place.

Victoria no longer seemed to be in need of Markham's attentions, having become much more confident in her own charms due in large part to the time she had spent visiting with the Rousseaus. Andrew was quite certain that she might finally allow him to introduce her to a more suitable young man. He no longer had any reason to tolerate Markham, especially after the discoveries he'd made recently about the boy's true character. Indeed, Andrew had intended to put the relationship to an end even before the damned fool had attempted to cause trouble for the Rousseaus.

The door to Edward's flat swung in and the man welcomed Crawford in his usual fawning nature. Falling over himself to ensure the older man's comfort. Crawford refused the glass of Sherry that Edward offered and the two men sat across from one another.

Edward smiled shrewdly, "I trust you've not encountered any trouble with that matter I brought to your attention."

Crawford raised a brow at the boy, "No trouble at all, Edward. I am happy to report that you have been entirely unwarranted in your concern. Erik Rousseau is not the Phantom you spoke of."

Edward's eyes widened in surprise, "You cannot believe that! Every detail fits. The mask…the timing of his appearance in Dover…his wife…_Christine_…the opera house she grew up in."

Crawford scoffed, "Yes…his wife. Christine. Even if she is this same Christine Daaé …do you not think that would seem to prove that Erik cannot be this phantom? The girl clearly adores her husband, I hardly think that would be so if he had terrorized and kidnapped her."

Edward sputtered, "Then he has put some spell on her…they said he could do that…entrance people with his voice."

Laughter erupted from the older man, "Spells? Is the phantom meant to be a ghost or a wizard? The whole story has likely been half created in the imaginations of gossip hounds. You've no proof of anything, Edward, and you'd be wise to let the matter drop."

The young man's eyes narrowed as he glared at Crawford, "I will not. If you'll not take action in this matter then I will."

Crawford raised his cane, pressing it into Edwards chest until the boy was pinned back into his seat. "You will do no such thing. Until this time, I have been very forgiving of your vices, boy. I am quite aware of a number of gambling debts you've acquired, and your drunken nights of debauchery on the town. I am also recently aware of a small discrepancy in the ledgers at my office, which I believe has occurred under your watchful eye on my books. Now I am certain it must simply be an oversight, but it truly does not bode well for your career. Your firm would be most displeased to lose my account." Crawford dropped the cane to the floor and stood, leaving Edward looking up at him in shock.

"Now, you will not repeat your little story to anyone, nor will you ever touch my books again. You will also politely remove yourself from my daughter's life. In return for these things, I will not notify the police of your thievery, and I will pay off your creditors, being so kind as to provide you with a very generous severance pay, as we shall call it, so that you might gain a fresh start. Preferably far away from Dover. And if you think to test me, Mr. Markham, keep in mind that I shall be retaining the evidence against you in a safe location. Am I understood?"

Edward's face had drained of all its color, and he swallowed heavily, "Y-yes, sir."

Andrew smiled, "I wish I could say it has been a pleasure, but it certainly has not. Goodbye, Mr. Markham."

xXx

Andrew Crawford had the very distinct pleasure of informing the Rousseaus that he was quite satisfied that their secret would remain such. Erik was understandably unconvinced…until Victoria Crawford had sadly confided to Christine several days later that her suitor, Edward Markham, had mysteriously broken off with her, resigned with his partners, and quit Dover.

Erik's subsequent inquiry with Crawford had duly satisfied him, and needless to say, he had developed a whole new level of respect for his employer.

* * *

**A/N: **I debated drawing that mess with Edward out...but I took pity on poor Erik and Christine. They still have the matter of Baby Phantom to concentrate on. Erik's reaction might seem a little out of character...that he would allow Crawford the opportunity to help...but he really isn't the same isolated tormented man he was at the opera. Despite his lingering dark side, Christine has managed to have some influence on him. 


	39. In Welcome

In Welcome

The next two months passed in blessed reprieve, though it took quite awhile for Erik and Christine to begin to relax once again. They remained ever aware of the possibility that someone less sympathetic than Mr. Crawford could stumble upon the same truth that Edward Markham had discovered. Crawford insisted that they should not worry over things which could not be controlled, and assured them both that they would have his continuing support.

It humbled Erik to know that a man like Crawford could place such faith in him. In the end, he and Christine had decided that there really was no reason to leave Dover. Their history in France had no ill effect thus far on their life in England, and the story that Markham had heard could just as easily surface anywhere they tried to escape to. The more time that passed, the more the truth of the tale would become distorted with each retelling. Even the version Markham had told to Crawford had been greatly embellished…going so far as to turn the Phantom into a living corpse with eyes that glowed yellow. The description had not pleased Erik at all.

Life slipped into a small amount of quiet contentment for a time, the only real excitement being that which Christine felt for the imminent arrival of Meg and Madame Giry. She had written them with instructions to seek out the Gate Inn upon landing in Dover, and on the morning of their scheduled arrival, she had sent Erik off to await them. He'd arrived early, strangely nervous to see Madame Giry and Meg again. It had been six months since they had said their goodbyes, and he'd found himself often thinking of the two women. He had…missed them. Antoinette Giry had been so long a part of his life, he had felt rather lost without her stern, disapproving looks.

Erik saw the hansom slow to a stop from the parlor of the inn and watched the two ladies step to the ground. He waited a few moments, listening for the footfalls that would announce their entrance, and when he heard them, he stepped through small doorway into the foyer.

Meg saw him first, and the words she had been speaking to her mother fell away as her sapphire eyes landed on him. Erik offered a hesitant smile, still thinking it felt rather odd upon his face, although it felt far more natural when Antoinette Giry looked up and smiled warmly at him.

"Erik."

She was at once walking toward him, and he nodded to her, then to Meg. "Madame Giry, Mademoiselle. I…hope you had a pleasant journey."

Antoinette shot an odd look to her daughter. "Only a small unpleasantness on the train to Calais, but no trouble otherwise." Erik saw Meg color slightly, and sensed there was more, but he did not ask and Antoinette looked back to him once again. "You look…well."

"I am. As is Christine. I have been instructed to bring you both to her at once, and it is best not to disappoint her these days." Indeed, Erik tried to please his wife as much as possible, as her moods had for sometime been completely unpredictable.

Antoinette chuckled, "Then we should go at once."

The three made their way to Erik's carriage, and they set off on the forty-five minute ride that would reunite their little family.

xXx

Christine had been pacing the downstairs since she'd sent Erik off into town, every so often peaking out the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of the carriage. Of course, she could simply go and sit in the music room, or Erik's office, or the parlor, and wait for one of his alarms to be set off. She hated that he'd rigged them here, but she supposed it had been the wiser coarse of action.

She straightened a few of the candles on the table, and Katie, who'd been giving a final dusting to the parlor, playfully snapped a rag at Christine's hands. "You stop that fidgeting, Ms. Christine. Go and have a seat…the master will have my hide if he knows I've let you wander all about the house when you should be resting."

Christine laughed, "I certainly do not intend to tell him, and you shan't be telling him either."

Katie shook her head in exasperation and disappeared towards the kitchen. Christine smiled as she watched the woman go, thinking that she really had been a wonderful addition to the house. She was exceptionally tolerant of Erik's moods, and wonderfully caring to both of them. The distinctive ringing of a bell interrupted the silence and a wide smile crossed Christine's face. She pulled the curtain back and saw the carriage turning the corner of the drive. Excitement bubbled up inside her and she hurried to the front door, swinging it open just as the carriage was coming to a stop.

She pressed one hand to her back for support and the other over her swollen belly as she carefully made her way down from the front stoop and towards the carriage. Erik was in the process of helping Meg down from the carriage, and Christine knew by the look in his eyes he was not pleased to see her rushing towards them. He really had gotten extremely overprotective in the past few months. Christine only smiled even brighter, her attention landing back on Meg and Madame.

"Oh, you are finally here! I have missed you both so."

Meg was smiling widely, and Christine threw her arms around her friend. Meg hugged her back just as fiercely, "It is so good to see you again, Christine." The blond pulled back slightly and cast her twinkling eyes downward. "All of you."

Christine laughed. Lord, she had missed Meg. "Yes, there is quite a bit more of me now, isn't there?"

Madame Giry laid a gentle hand on Christine's arm, her keen eyes looking her over thoroughly. "You look wonderful, Christine. And in good health."

Christine nodded, laying a protective hand over her stomach. "I am. We are."

Erik sighed, holding a few of the ladies' bags in his hands. "Come now, ladies, there's no reason to stand about outside all evening."

Christine grinned sweetly at Erik. "That would be Erik's polite way of telling me I should go inside and sit down. He does worry so."

Erik glanced away uncomfortably. In truth, he was still terrified for Christine, and growing more so each day. He heard Madame Giry click her tongue and chuckle, saying, "At any rate, he is right. I would love a nice comfortable seat while my head stops spinning from all this motion."

xXx

Nearly two hours later, Meg and Madame had been caught up on the most important events that had occurred since they had last spoken. Both ladies were eager to make the acquaintance of the Crawford family, and Christine was eager to have them meet, as well. She'd a feeling that Sarah and Madame Giry would get on quite well, although she was rather uncertain of how sweet, shy Victoria would take to Meg, who was decidedly bolder. She so hoped they would come to like one another.

Eventually, Madame had asked about the baby, and how Christine had been faring in her pregnancy. Christine was happy enough to talk about it, but she could see Erik's eyes growing darker. Even with the progress they had made, all his concern for her health, he could not seem to sustain a conversation about their child more than a few moments. It still frustrated her terribly, but Christine had learned to get by with those little moments.

When Meg asked about the nursery, Erik abruptly stood. "If you will excuse me, I am certain this conversation is better suited for you ladies than I."

Antoinette watched Christine's face fall at Erik's retreat, and sighed, "He is still reluctant to talk much about the child?"

Christine sighed as well, "Yes. There are moments when he seems so happy and we talk with ease . Then it's as if he remembers that he has no right to be so content. He'll lock himself away in his music room and compose for hours."

Antoinette nodded, "He is worried for you, child. Surely you can see that."

Christine twisted her hands together to keep from screaming. Of course she saw it, she lived with it, but, "I would rather he be worried with me, Madame. I feel so alone in this sometimes."

Christine felt Meg pry her hands apart, and gave a little squeeze. Christine looked up to see her friend's hesitant grin. "Maman and I are here now, so there will be no more of that."

"Perhaps I should attempt to talk with Erik?"

Christine's eyes went back to Madame, and she smiled gratefully. "Oh, Madame Giry, would you?"

Antoinette chuckled and stood. "Of course. And Christine, you are a married woman now. You really must start to call me Antoinette."

Antoinette?

Christine blushed, wondering if she could really bring herself to refer to the woman with such informality. "Thank you."

Madame Giry…Antoinette…disappeared in search of Erik, and Christine turned back to Meg. Her friend was grinning broadly, her eyes alit with that mischievous glimmer that Christine had so missed. "A married lady. Matronly, even. How droll."

Christine couldn't suppress her giggle. "Stop it, Meg."

xXx

Antoinette Giry found Erik in the music room, scribbling notes onto a page. She idly wondered what melody he was hearing, and what emotion had born it. He drew a ragged breath and looked up to her, annoyance flashing in his eyes, "Did she send you to scold me, Antoinette?"

One regal brow rose, "Do you need to be scolded, Erik?"

His pen was slammed to the top of the piano. "Let us drop all pretense…I can see the disapproval in your eyes. Have at me, then! You will say nothing that my lovely wife has not already said."

"Perhaps not, but it must be said nonetheless, Erik. I told you once that your self-pity would be of no use to Christine. Neither will your fear. Refusing to speak of the future will not hold it at bay."

Erik stood, his eyes flashing. "Nor will speaking of it! I am not a fool, Antoinette. I know there is no scheme, no manipulation, which will change what is to come. I've no control at all…and I despise the feeling."

"Do you think you are the only one? Your fear is no different than the fear that any man feels. Or any woman, for that matter. When I carried Meg, I thought of everything that could go wrong. I was convinced that I would not live to hold her. I made Armand promise that he would not let her forget her mother…that he would tell her how very much I loved her. I wrote letters to her before she was born, so that I might tell her all the things I wished her to know."

Erik glanced away, "Christine has written letters."

Antoinette nodded, "Armand never wrote one. We were both so frightened that our child could grow up without a mother, we never considered that she would lose her father before she had a chance to know him."

Erik's eyes came back to her, and he saw the tears trickling over her cheeks. He suddenly felt horribly ashamed. "I…I am…sorry, Antoinette."

Her shoulders straightened, "Do not apologize to me, Erik. I want no sympathy from you. I only want you to understand that this world is no one's dream. We, each of us, have only this moment to be certain of." She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Embrace it...and know that you are not alone in it. Let Christine know that she is not alone in it."

Erik nodded, looking away again. His soul longed to embrace what lay before him, yet his lingering fears would never entirely allow it. He knew that Christine certainly would not wish to hear his greatest fear. He had kept it as far from her as possible.

_I am afraid of what I might do if the child takes my angel away from me._

xXx

"Tell me more about this Monsieur Ranier."

Meg smiled at Christine and raised her brows in mock innocence, "There is not much to tell."

Christine grasped her friend's hands, smiling widely, "Come now, Meg. I am dying to know what has been happening with you."

Christine watched as Meg dropped her eyes slightly and shrugged, "Very little really. You've had most of it in my letters. And Jean is…difficult to describe."

Christine had known Meg far too long to believe that, and she was longing to hear about the man who was planning to reopen the Opera Populaire. She grinned mischievously, "Try."

Meg sighed, her lips curving upward. "Picture Erik without the mask or the moodiness, and then make him a charming rascal."

Christine laughed outright, "Erik _is_ a charming rascal when he wants to be."

Meg raised lifted a brow, "But Erik is not a rake."

Christine's smiled softened, "No, that is certainly one worry I shall never have to face. I know Erik is completely mine."

And I would not have it any other way.

Meg nodded firmly, her tone becoming as stern as her mother's. "And Jean would never be completely mine. So I shall never be his."

Christine eyed her friend carefully. She had the strange feeling that she was missing something, yet she could not entirely put her finger on what. "Why do I sense there is more you are not telling me?"

Meg shrugged again, a half smile on her face. "He is a very determined rake."

"And you are worried his determination will wear down your resistance?"

An odd faraway look entered Meg's eyes, and her cheeks turned slightly pink. "Not precisely, but I am certainly happy to have some time away."

Christine nodded slowly, "Time away can certainly bring a new perspective to things." Christine determined that she would use her time with Meg to pursue this subject of Jean Ranier a little further. Drawing a breath, she broached the subject she'd not let herself think much on these past months. "And speaking of time…how is…Raoul?"

Meg seemed to start a moment, her breath catching, then she composed herself, sitting up a little straighter and meeting Christine's eyes evenly. "Raoul is…doing well. His parents have recently come to Paris, and they have been attending the theater." Meg hesitated a moment before adding, "He seems…happy."

Christine released the breath she hadn't been aware of holding. She'd worried more than she cared to admit that poor Raoul was suffering over what she had done to him. "I am so glad to hear that. I want him to be happy again."

Meg smiled slightly, and Christine noticed her friend's eyes drift to a spot over her shoulder. "I know you do, Christine."

She could feel a sudden tension in the air between them, and she wondered at it. She knew from Meg's letters that her friend had spoken with Raoul at least once or twice after Christine had left Paris. Meg had assured her that he seemed to have let go and would not cause any trouble in her new life with Erik. Though Raoul did not know that her new life was _with _Erik. Christine suddenly grew nervous at the thought that Meg had been merely trying to ease her mind in that regard. She needed to know that her childhood friend had truly moved on. "Is he…seeing anyone?"

Meg jerked her gaze back to her friend, a strange look in her eyes that Christine couldn't quite place. Meg drew a breath, "I…well…actually… he…is."

He is. He has someone. Good.

Christine smiled slowly as she allowed her curiosity to creep in. "Is it serious, do you know?"

Meg cleared her throat, her eyes dropping slightly, "He…has told me he is...in love…but I…cannot help but wonder if he is really over his love for you."

Christine frowned, thinking of Raoul's honest and chivalrous nature, and she spoke more for her own benefit than Meg's. "Raoul would not profess to love a woman if he does not. He is too much a gentleman."

Meg sighed, "I don't doubt his honor. Certainly…he _believes _himself to be in love. I only wonder if he is being completely honest with himself."

Christine felt the familiar stab of guilt over the childish mistakes that had hurt so many people. "As I was not honest with myself?"

Meg laid a hand on Christine's arm. "Christine, you must stop punishing yourself for the past. Raoul's happiness is not your responsibility any longer. You should be concentrating on your own happiness."

Christine nodded, a small frown still on her lips. "You're right, of course, but I fear the guilt will never completely leave me." Perhaps if she could know that Raoul was truly happy in his own life, Christine could finally let go of the blame she placed on herself for misleading him. "Do you think this woman will make him happy, Meg?"

Meg looked to the floor, her voice sounding slightly strained. "I…cannot say, Christine. Only time will tell."

And time was much shorter than either of them could imagine.

* * *

**A/N:** The little family (phamily?) is reunited. Yes...this begins the crossover section with the events of _LC_. I tried to determine which scenes needed to be kept for plot purposes and which could go. And of course, I tried to add a few little scenes I didn't write before, as well as change the perspective of the shared ones. To those who read the other story...forgive me the redundancy. For those that didn't...well...it does seem that dear Meg might be hiding something, doesn't it? 


	40. In Return

In Return

The next many days passed without much ado. The Crawfords had paid a visit early on to meet the _family _that Christine had been so excited to see again, and they had all gotten along quite well. As Christine had suspected, the still somewhat reserved Victoria had not known quite what to make of Meg's teasing banter at first. Although Meg had been a great deal more subdued than usual.

Christine had been sensing her friend's odd mood almost from the moment of her arrival, and honestly did not know what to think of it. Meg was, for the most part, her usual spirited self when she spoke with Christine, but there was a strange wistfulness in her eyes. Christine had even broached the subject with Madame…_Antoinette_…asking if everything was truly well. Antoinette had skillfully evaded, reassuring Christine that Meg would certainly speak with her if something was amiss.

Christine decided to give her friend every opportunity to do so. They were currently walking in the small orchard behind the house, and Christine was somewhat surprised that Erik had let her go. He was constantly tucking her into chairs and onto sofas lately, even though Doctor Winston had actually encouraged some light exercise. Christine cast a sidelong look to Meg, who was staring out to the ocean.

"Meg, you've still not told me…why did you really refuse to return to the Opera Populaire? It cannot only be because your mother disapproved."

Meg laughed lightly, "We are speaking of _my_ mother, are we not?"

Christine smiled, but shook her head firmly. According to Meg, the Populaire had been completely renovated and was beginning preparations for the opening gala even now. "I cannot believe that _she_ would not wish to return there. Monsieur Ranier cannot be such a man to keep her away from the home she loved."

Meg sighed, "I think there are too many unpleasant memories there now, Christine." At her friend's visible distress, Meg rushed on, "You must remember…all those years of secrets, of her own guilt over everything…as much as she loved the Populaire, I really think she has found a certain peace at the Theatre Soliel that she'd not known before." After a brief moment of silence, Meg grinned wickedly, "And she would not wish to abandon Monsieur LeCleur."

Christine giggled at the reference to Madame Giry's besotted manager. "Meg, please. I do not wish to have that image in my mind."

Meg joined in her friend's laughter, catching her breath after a moment to admit, "To be honest, Christine, Jean Ranier _is_ such a man to keep Maman away from the Opera House. She cannot abide him…either his manner or his business practices."

Christine eyed Meg carefully, "And what of you, Meg? Can you abide him? I do not mean as a suitor, but…the ballet at the Opera, Meg? The Prima? Is that not what you always wished for?"

Meg looked back to the ocean, a strange smile playing on her lips. "I am lately finding myself wishing a great many things." She sighed, "And the stage of the Populaire is least amongst them."

Christine raised her brows in surprise. She never imagined hearing Meg say such a thing. Instead of quelling her curiosity, she found herself with even more questions. "Meg…I know so much has changed in these last months, but you know that I am still your friend. If there is something you need to talk about, I am here to listen."

Meg turned then, her smile trembling slightly. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. With a slight shake of her head, her smiled turned a bit more certain, "I know, Christine. We will talk soon…really talk…I promise you. Now, I must get you back inside to rest before Erik comes out in search of us."

Christine rolled her eyes indulgently, "Yes, mother."

Meg laughed, "Mother, am I?" She turned Christine by the shoulders, looping an arm around her waist as she began to guide her back to the house. "My friend, I do believe you are in need of a mirror. There is but one mother between us, and I am not she."

Christine was still smiling in merriment when she and Meg entered the house through the terrace doors, only to be greeted by the angry sounds of an argument. There was a man's voice, slightly raspy and dripping with disdain.

"You bastard! You tried to kill me."

Christine's heart stalled, and she felt Meg tense beside her, but she didn't stop to think of anything but moving towards the sound.

"As I would any uninvited pest in my home. Now tell me quickly why you are here, boy, or I will finish the job."

Erik. Oh God, Erik…what are you doing?

"You took her after all. Stole her away."

Christine came to a dead stop in the foyer, her mind registered the owner of the voice even as her eyes went wide at the sight before her. There, like a scene from one of her nightmares, stood her husband, cold murder in his eyes, his lasso dangling from one hand and the tip of a sword pressed firmly against the throat of le Vicomte de Chagny.

Raoul?

Erik growled, "I have stolen nothing! Only claimed what was mine. What has always been mine."

Christine gasped, "Erik!"

Both men turned toward her, their faces wearing matching expressions of rage and hatred, but only for a moment. Erik's eyes flashed with immediate concern for Christine, and Raoul's filled with shock.

Christine looked at Erik with pleading eyes, "What are you doing? Let him go, please."

She watched Erik sigh dejectedly, grateful when he dropped the sword from Raoul's throat. He turned back to his would-be-prey, "She saves you once again, _Vicomte_."

Christine looked at Raoul, as well. His face still wore a look of stunned disbelief. He was staring at her as though he'd never before seen her, and Christine suddenly realized that he hadn't. Not like this. Her hands flew to her belly, and she stood trembling before him.

What is he doing here? How did he find us? God, he knows. He knows everything now.

"Christine?" He took several steps toward her, then he froze, the dazed look on his face being suddenly replaced with one of confused anger. "God, what has he done to you?"

Christine's spine stiffened at his tone, every one of her protective instincts firing to life. Her temper sparked at his implication. "Nothing I have not asked him to, Raoul." Erik chuckled at his wife's biting retort, and she glared at him, "Do you think you are forgiven for attempting to spill blood in my hallway?"

Erik sobered immediately, his eyes darkening. "It is le Vicomte's own blade, mon ange."

"I do not care." Her eyes filled with tears and her voice trembled. "You promised me, Erik." Christine saw his eyes drop slightly, and she inwardly cringed. Had she expected him to welcome Raoul in any other way? She turned her angry, tearful gaze back to their uninvited guest. "Why did you come here? Why couldn't you just let us be?" She spun awkwardly, rushing into Meg's arms, who had been just one step behind Christine. She felt her friend's arms close around.

This cannot be happening. Not now. Not when Erik and I are finally happy.

Raoul's voice cut in through the haze of Christine's grief, yet it was not she whom he addressed. "Meg…?"

"You've done enough." Meg turned fierce eyes from Raoul to Erik. "Both of you." Then her voice softened as she stroked Christine's hair. "Come now, Christine. You mustn't let them upset you. No harm was done." Christine felt her friend stiffen. "Tell me you came alone, Raoul."

"I…?"

Christine's head snapped up, and she felt faint. Her eyes fastened on Erik, who looked very close to running the blade he still held through Raoul's back. "God, no, please…! Erik…?"

He grimaced, sheathing the blade as he crossed the short distance to his wife. He reached for her and she moved easily from Meg's arms into his. "Sh, mon ange. It will be alright."

He glared again at Raoul, ready to kill the boy. Erik had seen the fop as soon as he'd stepped from the hansom, and the moment the front door opened there had been a rope around the Vicomte's neck. He'd wanted nothing more than to strangle the life from the boy, but he'd not taken a life since he'd made his damned promise to Christine. Erik had shown the fool a moment of mercy….asked for a reason not to snap his neck. It was the boy's answer that had stopped Erik. One rather unexpected word.

Meg.

Her voice rang out through the foyer, strong and firm, stopping Erik from threatening the man again.

"Raoul…answer me."

Raoul looked at Meg, and took a tentative step towards her only to have her take a step back. His eyes flashed annoyance, "Of course I came alone. How can you ask me such a thing, Meg?"

"How? Raoul, you had me followed! I trusted you."

Raoul frowned, "You call this trust? You lied to me, Meg! All you told me of this trip was so perfectly calculated to keep me in the dark! And I believed every word…because I believed in you. Just as I believed you when you told me Ranier meant nothing to you!"

Christine caught her breath as she listened to Raoul's exchange with Meg. Her tears abated slightly and now her mind began to focus on the shift in their argument.

"What has Jean to do with any of this?"

"Exactly what I wish to know! Where is he, Meg?"

"I…assume he is in Paris."

"He is not, and you well know it. Or will you deny to me that he traveled with you to Calais?"

Meg gasped, "How…?"

Raoul wore a deep scowl, "He made no secret of the fact, Meg! Do you have any idea what it did to me to hear that you had eloped with him?"

At that, Christine gasped audibly, her mind spinning again.

_Meg? Eloped with Jean Ranier? No…she could not have…_

Meg's face registering shock at the accusation. "E-eloped? Where did you ever get an idea like that?"

Christine's eyes drifted away from Meg to Erik, who was now watching the altercation with a strange amusement. Then she looked to Raoul when his clipped response captured her attention again.

"The entire cast at le Soliel is gossiping about it! And the cad's assistant confirmed he had booked passage on your train."

There was a brief hesitation, and Christine found herself studying Meg's face again, awaiting her friend's answer just as Raoul was.

Raoul…who is treating Meg as if…

Could it be?

Meg colored slightly, "Jean…did travel with us, Raoul, but he was certainly not invited! And we parted company in Calais."

Raoul closed his eyes and sighed in relief, "Then you are not…his wife?"

Meg's eyes flashed, "God, no!"

Christine saw the smile light Raoul's face, watched his rigid posture sag with relief and his eyes rake over Meg as if she were the center of his world. His voice buzzed in Christine's ears as sudden understanding washed over her, and she felt like a fool for not having seen it sooner. She cut into their conversation, "You came after Meg, then?"

Both Raoul and Meg turned to look at Christine, the momentary confusion in their eyes making it clear that they'd not even remembered that there was anyone else in the room with them. Raoul nodded to her, his neck turning ruddy in embarrassment, "I…yes. It wasn't until I arrived in Dover that I began to realize…" He stopped, turning back to Meg with a frown, "You did lie to me."

Meg sighed raggedly, her voice barely a whisper, "So did you."

Christine looked from her friend to her former fiancée, her chest feeling strangely tight with an emotion she could not quite name. If she did not know better, she would think it…jealousy.

But that is ridiculous. I cannot be jealous. I love Erik.

"Erik…" She looked up at him, seeing the hard look in his eyes. She had felt his body grow tense when she'd interrupted Meg and Raoul's argument, and now she saw his own dark jealousy raging in his eyes. She looked away, "I am suddenly feeling… very tired. Could we sit awhile?"

Erik felt his grasp on control slipping away. His fist tightened on the sheathed sword still held firmly in his grasp. The Vicomte's blade, concealed in a fine gentleman's cane. Yet the boy had not come to kill him. He'd not brought any police. He had not even come for Christine. It was very clear now that he'd come for Little Giry...and Christine was clearly not happy about that. Erik felt the child kick between them, and he attempted to push aside his dark thoughts.

He set Christine away from him and placed a comforting hand at his wife's back. With a sharp look of warning to the boy, he guided Christine toward the parlor. He looked at Meg in passing, and the expression on the girl's face told him all he needed to know about her feelings for the Vicomte. He muttered, "Come along, then."

Erik looked up as he passed the stairs and saw Madame Giry standing four steps from the bottom, obviously having heard most, if not all, of the conversation. She nodded to him before continuing down toward the Vicomte.

Fate had brought them all to this moment…and there would be no turning back.

* * *

**A/N:** Uh, oh...unresolved issues all around. 


	41. In Forgiveness

In Forgiveness

The parlor of the Rousseau house was a powder keg of emotions, the fuse lit and burning ever closer to the inevitable explosion. Christine sat on the sofa with her wide brown eyes fastened on Meg, who, in turn, stood silently staring out the window. Erik knelt before his wife, pressing his hand against of the swell of _his _child as he studied Christine's face. She had sworn to him that her feelings for the boy were friendship only, and he had allowed himself to believe. Yet it was clear that she had lied to him. The look in Christine's eyes now spoke of jealousy, and he was certain she could see the reflection of it in his own eyes.

Erik had taken in every word exchanged in the foyer. His rage at the Vicomte had dimmed only slightly as the boy had gone on about chasing after Meg. _Little Meg!_ The foolish fop had not come for Christine at all. Any amusement he might have felt at the situation had evaporated with Christine's reaction. No matter the reason, the damn boy was interfering in their lives once again.

Erik turned his head slightly as Antoinette crossed the room to stand beside her daughter. Raoul was following close behind, and paused to stare at Erik and Christine with pain clear in every line of his face. Then his eyes turned toward Meg and he took a step forward.

Erik felt his rage return tenfold. The boy had the nerve to invade _his_ home...to upset _his_ _wife...__Meg...Antoinette_. Erik would not allow another moment of it, nor would he allow his fragile happiness to be destroyed by Raoul de Chagny once again. He flew to his feet, placing himself in the Vicomte's path despite Christine's concerned protest.

"Erik, no..."

He growled, "I will not have my wife upset any further. Or my guests. You will tell me now what your intentions are, Vicomte."

Raoul's eyes flashed with hatred before moving first to Christine, and then back over Erik's shoulder to where Meg stood watching them. Erik was mildly surprised to see the longing that sparkled there as the boy looked at Little Giry. Raoul met Erik's gaze again, his tone filled with icy resolve. "I will do nothing to upset Christine's happiness, Monsieur. You have my word as a gentleman."

From the corner of his eye, Erik saw Meg move from the window, rushing out the parlor door with her mother close behind her. Raoul turned instinctively to follow, but Erik clapped a hand over his shoulder and growled under his breath. "You have done quite enough damage to that girl for one day, Vicomte."

Raoul shrugged Erik's hand away. "It is nothing compared to the damage you have wrought!"

"Raoul! Erik! Stop this, both of you!"

Erik stepped away, restraining himself from doing physical damage to the man before him, but he could not completely suppress his anger. He felt it curl inside of him, twisting and burning for release. He turned to Christine with a scowl, "What would you have me do, Christine? Shall I fade into the shadows once again now that your vicomte has returned for you?"

Christine gasped, "Erik! Please! You know that I love you."

She had once said the same words to the man standing beside him. The memory of it would not be purged from Erik's mind. Nor the look of love in her eyes as she'd gazed at the boy on the roof of the Opera Populaire. Nor the jealousy that glimmered there today. He hissed, "Your words belie your expression, my dear." Erik turned back to Raoul with hatred blazing in his eyes. "It seems, le Vicomte, that you and my _wife _still have some business to settle. Kindly inform me when you are through here."

Erik stalked out of the parlor, not trusting himself to be anywhere near either the boy or Christine at the moment. He headed to the sanctuary of his music room, slamming the door behind him. He stood staring at the piano, hands itching to lift the bench and send it smashing through the window. Growling, he spun away, only to stare at the chaise in the corner. He could still see her there as she had been on their first night in this house. He squeezed his eyes shut, turning away from the chair and pacing to the window.

Damn her. Once again she blushes at her handsome Vicomte.

He should have killed the boy at first sight.

Yet you did not. And you have left him alone with Christine.

Erik had thrown her words of love back in her face.

But you always strike out at her. Like the poisonous viper you are.

But damn it, he had seen her eyes…seen how she had looked at Meg and Raoul together, even in argument. Was he expected to just ignore it?

Feeling caged and in need of air, he tore out of the music room and headed to the rear of the house, and out the door. Halfway to the orchard, he saw Meg and Antoinette in awkward silence on a garden bench.

Meg. She unknowingly brought that boy here.

Erik's temper ebbed slightly as he watched the girl, her face a reflection of his own anguish. He could barely grasp onto the notion that Little Giry could actually be in love with the fop.

Damned insolent boy! First Christine…now Meg. Can that fool not find some suitable little socialite to drape over his arm?

Yet there had been a glimmer of real emotion that passed between the two, and now Meg was suffering over the Vicomte's reunion with Christine just as Erik was. He found himself moving in the direction of the garden, strangely comforted by the fact that, for once, he was not alone in his misery.

xXx

Inside the parlor, Christine sat upon the sofa, with Raoul sitting at a careful distance next to her. After Erik's cutting accusation and his abrupt departure, she'd dissolved into tears. Raoul had made some attempt to soothe her, but it was clear that he was struggling with his own tumultuous emotions. He'd gone from anger, to confusion, and back again; and now he sat staring at her with pain evident in his eyes.

He had asked her if she was happy, and despite her rather unconvincing display since his arrival, Christine had assured him that she was. Raoul's unexpected presence here had been a shock, to say the least. Seeing him once again at Erik's mercy, knowing that her husband would have happily slit his throat, had bought back every painful moment of the last time the three of them had stood facing one another. She had been afraid for Raoul...afraid for Erik. Afraid that her happiness was about to be destroyed, either by Erik's murderous temper or Raoul's discovery of their secret.

She told Raoul as much.

His voice rose frustration, "I would never have come at all if anyone had bothered telling me the truth in the first place!"

"I am sorry for that." Christine reached out and placed one delicate hand over his. There were so many things that she regretted about her actions toward the man before her now, and it was almost a relief now to have him here. To finally ease her guilty conscious. "I never meant to hurt you, Raoul. You must know that. I...was so confused about my feelings in the beginning. It was unfair of me to turn to you for answers that I should have found for myself."

Raoul closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. "You were in love with him all along, weren't you?"

"I..." Oh, this would surely hurt him, but it could not be helped. "Yes. I think I have always been in love with him...from the time I was a child and first heard my angel speak to me, comfort me and sing to me."

His eyes snapped open and he pulled away from her touch. "He lied to you, Christine."

Christine sighed, closing her eyes. "I know…and I lied to myself."

And to you.

"I knew my feelings for Erik went deeper than any childish fantasy should have. When I thought him an angel, I wanted him to be real. I wanted him to be flesh and blood so I could love him as I'd dreamed."

And it was true. Christine had spent countless nights imagining that her angel would willingly fall from heaven to be with her. She'd wanted to see him...to touch him. She couldn't have known how close to the truth her fantasies had been. Erik truly was her fallen angel. Drawing a steadying breath, she went on. "But when I finally knew he was a man, it was nothing like I imagined. I was afraid." She looked into Raoul's eyes and smiled sadly. "My childish dreams were of men like...you, and you happened to come back into my life at the worst possible time, I think."

Just as all her dreams were coming to fruition. Raoul had noticed her only when Erik had placed her at center stage, and his jealousy had set everything into motion. As a child, Christine had always imagined that her heart would choose a man who was kind, and gentle...and yes, shallow child that she was, he would be handsome. Erik had been hard and angry, and his dark temper had terrified her, even before she'd known him capable of murder. Was it any wonder that her fear had driven her into Raoul's waiting arms?

Christine continued on, determined to make this confession. "I was not yet strong enough give Erik my heart, or to begin to heal his pain. So I pledged myself to you instead, knowing you would keep me safe."

Raoul drew a ragged breath, pain reflected in his eyes. "Did you...ever love me?"

Christine determinedly took his hand again. "Yes. I did, Raoul." She had told him this once before, but she'd had so many secrets still to keep that perhaps she'd chosen her words too carefully. "I loved you as my friend, and as my protector, and I honestly believed that I could love you as my husband. But, in the end, I knew it would never be enough. I would have forever been thinking of Erik, and you deserve so much more than to have to share your wife's heart with another."

She saw him grimace at the mention of Erik's name, "Why did you not just tell me all of this before? Why sneak off into the night with him without even a goodbye?"

Christine raised a brow, "Need you really ask that? Erik is a wanted man in France. Could you have really...wished us well and let us go?"

Raoul dropped his head slightly and rubbed a weary hand over his brow before sighing and meeting Christine's eyes again. "I suppose at the time I would not have been very cooperative, but I have only ever wanted you to be happy, Christine. If he makes you so…"

Sweet relief coursed through Christine at Raoul's words, and she smiled widely, squeezing his hand. "He does. If you could only see Erik as I do, I know you would understand. We belong together, Raoul."

He smiled a little, his eyes dropping to her middle. "So I see. When is the child due?"

Christine did not even think what her next words would reveal. "Only another month or so."

Raoul's smile dimmed, his tone slightly accusing. "So...you and your husband were not exactly alone when you left Paris."

Christine's posture grew defensive. She would not be ashamed of what she and Erik had made between them. "No. We were not, and I have no regrets."

Censure flashed in his eyes for a moment before he stood and paced to the window. Yet his next words were full of thoughtful contemplation. "I suppose this would be what has taken Meg and her mother so determinedly away from Paris…and why they could never say for certain when they would return."

Ah, yes…Meg.

Christine was still uncertain what to think of the day's events. As shaken as she had been at seeing Raoul again, she had been even more shaken to realize that he had come in pursuit of Meg.

And this is what she has been hiding from me.

Every word her friend had spoken suddenly seemed to take on new meaning, as did the way Meg had determinedly avoided meeting Christine's eyes when they had spoken of Raoul.

Meg said that he was in love…dear lord, she meant with her. And she doubts his feelings.

The need to know the truth overwhelmed her, and she chose the question that was certain to elicit an unguarded response. "Did you really think Meg had eloped with...what was his name again?"

Raoul whirled around and growled, "Ranier! Jean Ranier. And if you knew him as I do, you would understand my concern."

Christine sat back into the sofa, surprised at the vehemence of Raoul's voice and the jealousy flashing in his eyes, though she should not have been, as apparently that was the reason for his very presence here. Christine did not know every detail of what had passed between Meg and Jean Ranier, but she did know that Ranier had been relentlessly pursuing her friend and Meg repeatedly refusing him. Sighing, Christine admitted, "Actually, Meg has told me quite a bit about him." She smiled slightly, "It seems he reminds her a bit of Erik."

Her words did nothing to calm his temper. "Meg has a very poor opinion of your husband then."

Christine smiled more fully, "Actually, Meg and Erik are quite fond of one another."

Raoul's face grew darker, a tone of sarcasm coloring his words that Christine had not known him capable of. "Well isn't that just lovely for them! With Meg's appreciation for scoundrels, I am certain they would have had a grand romance if you hadn't gotten to him first."

Christine gasped in stunned disbelief, "My God! I do not think I have ever seen you seethe with jealousy before!"

Not even when I broke our engagement.

"I am _not _seething."

Yes, my dear, sweet friend…you most certainly are.

Christine felt her lips curve once again, "I notice that you didn't say that you are not jealous. You _are_ in love with Meg, aren't you?"

The anger and jealousy drained from Raoul's face as he sank back to the sofa again. His eyes were filled with such longing it nearly made Christine's heart ache. "Yes. I am."

And Meg is in love with Raoul. Yet she cleverly evaded the truth with every carefully chosen word.

"She told me you had found someone, but she did not tell me it was her."

He looked at her with curiosity, "Does it bother you?"

Christine drew a breath, "I...don't know. I confess that it did bother me to realize you had come chasing her across France and into England, but I am not certain why. I have no romantic claim on you, nor do I want one again." She knew her words were truth. She did not love Raoul in that way. "I want you to be happy. I want Meg to be happy."

Raoul silently looked to the floor. After a moment, he asked, "You…said she didn't tell you…about my feelings for her?"

He sounded so hurt at the thought of being denied by Meg, Christine could hardly bear to confirm it. Yet she had no other choice. "No. She did not."

He sighed raggedly again, raking a hand through his hair. "She doesn't believe me, Christine. She thinks I am still in love with you, and I fear my being here now has only made it worse."

An awful feeling of dread began to crawl through her blood. Christine hesitated, unable to keep herself from asking the question that could bring this tentative peace crashing down on them all.

"_Are_ you still in love with me?"

* * *

**A/N:** Yes...Meg and Raoul have gotten...close...since Christine left. Meg had been putting off telling Christine about this for fear that it would upset her. (Really...not telling probably made it worse.) Jean Ranier...the determined cad...well let's just say he somewhat takes the Erik role in the RM relationship (or perhaps the Raoul role in the EC relationship is more apt,) though Meg's heart has been won by our heroic fop...er...Vicomte. Obviously...this means that Raoul does not like Jean Ranier at all. 


	42. In Understanding

In Understanding

Are you still in love with me?

Christine prayed that Raoul would say 'no.' For Meg's sake. For Erik's sake. But mostly for her own sake, because she could not bear to know that she would continue to bring so much misery to so many people whom she cared about.

Raoul met her eyes evenly. "I...do still love you, Christine. But it has changed. Seeing you again has made me realize how little we really knew one another as adults. I loved Little Lotte, and she was gone long before we ever met again."

"Not so very long before then, Raoul." Christine replied with a smile, feeling suddenly as though a great weight had been lifted from her heart.

He nodded, "I would have married you, you know. And gone on thinking everything was wonderful."

She grinned at him, "I would have made you miserable."

Raoul smiled sadly, "Meg makes me happy, Christine. She makes me laugh, and she makes me feel…" He broke off with a blush. "I love her, more than I ever imagined possible." His smile turned slightly sardonic. "I think I have even come to understand your Erik's murderous jealousy." He turned pleading eyes to Christine. "How do I make her believe that the past is truly behind me?"

Christine smiled in sympathy. She struggled with that same question nearly everyday. She did not pretend to have the answer, but she gave Raoul the only advice that she could. "By loving her, Raoul, no matter how impossible it may seem. She will not always make it easy, of course. I find myself wanting to throttle Erik sometimes for his stubbornness." She pressed a hand over her belly when she felt Erik's daughter give a hard kick in agreement, or perhaps in protest, and her smile grew wider. "But I guarantee the rewards are worth the effort."

xXx

"I am to blame for all of this. I led him straight to you."

The words slipped into the silence between Meg and Erik, who sat side by side on the bench in the garden. Antoinette Giry had long since abandoned them to their _sulking, _as she had called it. If they were sulking, then Meg supposed they both had a right to under the circumstances...and she was certain her mother had gone inside to check on Christine and Raoul in order to ease her own mind.

Erik continued to stare up to the house, and Meg waited for his temper to fire back to life at her admission of guilt. Though neither she nor her mother had told anyone that they were traveling to England, they had needed some story to explain their extended absence from the Theatre Soliel. They'd cited visiting friends in ill health who lived on the coast. The only destination known to anyone was the city of Calais where the rail journey would end. It had all seemed innocent enough...even giving the name Rousseau, as no one could have associated that with either the Phantom of the Opera or Christine Daaé .

Raoul had known nothing more than anyone else had known, yet he had found them here in Dover. _How?..._Meg was still not entirely certain. _Why?_…well, that question tore at her heart.

She had never intended to fall in love with Raoul de Chagny. She had only ever meant to comfort him after Christine had disappeared from his life without explanation. Meg could still remember the pain on Raoul's face when she'd told him that Christine had left Paris to start a new life away from her ruined career and reputation. Yet he had somehow sensed the truth...that Christine had left to be with the man she had called her angel. Meg had never confirmed that fact, afraid that Raoul would attempt to hunt them down, but he had seemed to accept that Christine was truly and finally lost to him.

She'd not expected their friendship to continue without Christine's presence in their lives, but it had. Not only continued, but deepened, changed in time to something else entirely. There was an easiness to their conversations and a strange rightness that they both felt in one another's company which had been impossible to ignore, though they had both tried. Meg had even gone as far as to briefly accept the attentions of Jean Ranier in an attempt to forget her growing feelings for the one man she knew could never be hers.

Even that had not altered the course of her stubborn heart. Indeed, it had only prompted a declaration of love from Raoul which she'd not yet had the courage to reciprocate. How could she have, when she had known so many truths that she could never share with Raoul? When she had been certain that she would always be standing in Christine's shadow? How ironic that the one thing that had brought them together was the very thing that would forever stand between them.

Erik sighed, "The boy _has_ proved far more resourceful than I'd imagined him to be…to have tracked you here from Paris."

His words shook Meg from her musings. His tone was even, almost speculative. He'd not betrayed his anger, nor had he absolved her for her guilt.

Meg shook her head hopelessly, "We should not have said we were taking the train to Calais. We should have said Amiens, or Rouen."

Erik scoffed, "I somehow doubt that would have deterred him. He can be annoyingly persistent."

A sad smile curved her lips and another unbidden tear trickled over her cheek. She could only imagine what lengths Raoul must have gone to in order to find his way to Dover. Meg knew exactly what he must have thought when he'd discovered Jean had been on her train...that she had lied to him about her reasons for leaving Paris…which of course, she had, to a certain degree. But Jean's latest scheme would have led Raoul to believe she had left him for a man she'd sworn never to see again.

Just as Christine had done.

Christine…whom he has found once again.

"Raoul is no longer any threat to you, Erik. Certainly you must know that."

Erik choked out a humorless laugh. "Do not worry. Your boy is safe enough for the moment."

Meg shook her head, "He is not…" _yet mine_, she had nearly said, stopping herself at Erik's hard glare.

"Not your boy?" He finished. "Careful, Little Giry. The fact that I think he might be is the only reason I have not yet snapped his neck."

She shuddered at the coldness in his tone and turned her face away.

Erik studied her a moment before he sensed someone approaching, and knew before his head turned that is was the boy. He stood abruptly, every muscle coiling and ready to strike, until Meg's little hand closed over his in an attempt to still him. She couldn't have stopped him and they both knew it, yet her presence beside him forced Erik to think before acting.

Raoul's face was dark as he approached, his own hands closed into tight fists. "Madame Rousseau wishes to speak with her husband."

Erik glared at the boy, wordlessly brushing past him on the way to the parlor. Christine was his only concern at the moment, and he'd a feeling by the way the Vicomte was looking at Meg that the two had their own matters to deal with.

xXx

Entering the parlor, Erik saw Christine sunken back against the sofa, both hands over her belly, her head tipped back slightly and her eyes closed. Immediate concern at once replaced annoyance, and he dropped to his knees in front of her. Her lips curved up softly at his presence, though her eyes remained shut.

"Christine, are you well? If that boy has tried anything..."

"I am fine, my love, only tired." She lifted her head and met his eyes. "You've no need to worry, Erik...it is settled between Raoul and I."

His eyes narrowed, and he stood, turning to pace to the window.

_Settled? What in the hell does that mean? _

De Chagny was still roaming about his property as if he was a bloody welcomed guest. A glance toward the garden revealed the boy sitting alone where Meg had once been.

Has she come to her senses, or has the fop told her something she did not wish to hear?

Erik turned back to Christine with a scowl and paced the length of the parlor again before turning back to crouch in front of her. "What do you mean by settled?"

She cupped his face with her hand. "I mean that I love you, angel. Raoul knows everything...I told him of all my feelings for you and finally apologized for my misuse of his affections. We have laid our past to rest."

Erik studied his wife carefully. "And your jealousy?"

Christine grimaced, dropping her hand to her lap. "Childishness, Erik. I think I was more hurt that Meg had not told me how close she and Raoul have become."

Her eyes were clear and free of the strange pensiveness he'd seen there before, and Erik believed her. Christine had been trying since the Girys' arrival to discover the secret she'd been certain her friend was keeping. To be confronted with the truth in such an unexpected way could not have been anything but difficult. Hell, even _he _found it rather difficult. Erik sighed and traced gentle fingers over her cheek. "I am not certain I approve of them."

Christine smiled, "It is not your place to approve, my love. Nor mine for that matter, but you must promise to try and tolerate Raoul's presence here, Erik."

His eyes darkened. Tolerating the boy would be impossible. "Are you certain you can trust him? He could easily go back to Paris and tell the authorities where to find me."

She sighed, "We have to trust him, love. I do not think he would knowingly do anything to hurt me...or Meg, now."

Erik grunted, "Mm. Except he has hurt Meg, mon ange."

Christine certainly could not deny that. "I wonder if she has not hurt him, as well."

Erik recalled the argument that had passed between Meg and her boy, and knew Christine was right. "He is a delicate little fop, isn't he?"

Her brow shot up. "Erik...! You are impossible." Christine tried her best to keep her voice stern, but the smile that flirted around the edge of her mouth betrayed her.

Erik grinned, "But you love me for it." Leaning over his wife, he captured her smiling lips in a sensual kiss. When he pulled back, she slipped her hands into his.

"Help me up, Erik."

Laughing a little, he did as she asked. "May I assume you are off to hunt down Meg?"

She grinned at him, "I most certainly am, and then I should like to rest a bit before dinner."

Erik nodded, "I believe she has gone to her room, mon ange. She did not seem in a mood to entertain the boy."

As they walked toward the stairs, Christine turned to her husband with determination. "He is in love with her, Erik."

He sighed and nodded in resignation, "And she with him, or so it would seem. Though she never spoke those words."

Christine smiled at him, her eyes sparkling, "You will make certain he stays for supper, will you not?"

Erik's face darkened, "Christine…"

"Please, Erik. For Meg."

He grimaced, "I suppose I shall not have a choice. I am afraid I sent the boy's hansom away when I was planning to kill him, and I've no desire to lend him one of my horses."

Christine frowned deeply, "Erik…you did not really intend to kill Raoul, did you?"

He averted his eyes, and Christine had her answer.

Silently, she allowed him to help her up the stairs. He left her alone to see to Meg, and Christine pushed away her lingering uneasiness to concentrate on her friend. She tapped lightly at Meg's door, "Meg? May I come in?"

After a moment, Christine heard the soft reply. "Yes."

She opened the door, hesitating a moment at the vision before her. Meg's eyes were red and slightly puffy, her face a little pale, and she stood by the bed, calm and composed, and clearly waiting for a storm to come. Christine closed the door behind her and gracelessly maneuvered herself into the wing-back chair in the corner. She raised an eyebrow, looking at Meg pointedly, "Is there something you neglected to mention to me, my friend?"

xXx

Raoul sat staring out to the ocean on the very bench that Meg had sat upon not an hour before. She had not wished to speak with him, and he'd had no choice but to let her go. He sighed raggedly, knowing that Meg doubted his devotion to her, and he could hardly blame her for it. Christine had been so much a part of his past, and he'd never had the chance to say a proper goodbye to her.

He had always suspected that her departure from Paris had been somehow tied her supposed angel. Raoul had known Christine's feelings for the man, even though he'd stubbornly refused to admit the truth to himself. Yet he'd found it difficult to let go, if only because he could never entirely be certain of Christine's fate. Meg would only ever assure him that their friend was happy in her new life.

Meg.

For so long, he'd thought that no one could replace Christine in his heart, but he'd been proven wrong. Meg's sweet smile and irrepressible spirit had captivated him completely, even before Christine had left Paris. Oh, he'd not been in love with Meg then, of course. He had still been in love with Christine. Or he thought he had been. Yet he'd been drawn to Meg, happy to be in her company and share in her laughter.

Even after Christine had gone, Raoul had found himself seeking Meg out. They had talked endlessly, about everything and nothing, and she had become the dearest friend he had ever known. And then she had become much more than that, invading his every waking thought while Christine had faded more and more from his mind.

He had resisted at first, not wanting to ask Meg to give up her dancing, certain that he would suffocate her as he had Christine. In his hesitation, Raoul had nearly let her slip away from him. She had caught the eye of Jean Ranier, a womanizer and a rogue if ever there was one, and Raoul had realized what a fool he had been not to have confessed his love. He'd quickly rectified that, but Meg had not yet told him that she returned his feelings.

He knew Christine to be the reason for that. Meg had admitted as much. She'd been uncertain that Raoul was truly over her friend, and he'd not know how to convince her. It was a strange twist of fate that saw her asking him for time. Time for her to feel secure in his love. Time he'd gladly granted to her, happy to prove his love in any way she would ask him to. He'd found it quite telling that he'd not been able to offer the same to Christine so many months before.

Yet time had meant letting Meg leave him…a two month holiday to the coast with Madame Giry to visit friends. Raoul was mildly surprised that he had not realized sooner who the friends really were, but he'd had no reason to doubt Meg's word. Until he'd heard the whispered rumors of an elopement at the Theatre Soliel…learned that Ranier had booked passage to Calais on Meg's train. Raoul feared that he might have lost Meg just as he had Christine.

_And I could not let her go._

"Brooding will not bring her back to you, boy."

Raoul was shaken from his thoughts by the mocking voice of the Phantom. _Erik. _He glared up at the man with a scowl, "I will not take advice from the likes of you!"

Erik chuckled, an odd amusement in his haunting eyes. "The likes of me? I am a happily married man, Vicomte."

Raoul stood, facing the fiend before him. "Let us understand one another, Monsieur. I do not like you. I do not trust you. And I will never comprehend what Christine sees in you. But I will endeavor to keep my disdain for you to myself for her sake. I will not, however, be continually made a fool of by you."

Erik laughed again, his eyes flashing with an odd humor. "I will refrain from commenting on your foolishness. But you can rest assured that I understand your feelings perfectly, and we are of similar mind on the subject." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Now, I recommend that you remove yourself from my garden and make yourself presentable, as my wife has insisted on your presence for dinner. Your bag is on the front drive. Apparently your cabbie was nice enough to leave it before he left you to your fate."

The final words were delivered in a near growl before Erik turned and disappeared back into the house. Raoul unclenched the fists he hadn't even been aware of forming and sank down onto the bench.

Dinner?

That would surely be a disaster in the making. Yet Meg would be there. Raoul was loathe to admit it, but Erik was right. Brooding would not bring Meg back to him. They needed to talk.

She needed to know.

There was only one woman Raoul could imagine spending his life with now.

And it wasn't Christine.

* * *

**A/N: **I feel I can safely tell you that only three chapters remain after this one. Things are starting to wrap themselves up. 


	43. In Peace

In Peace

Erik had left De Chagny brooding in the garden and immediately sought out Antoinette Giry. The woman had been standing guard, as it were, from a window seat in the sitting room. She made a good show of reading the novel in her hands, but Erik knew that she had chosen a position where she'd be able to keep a watchful eye on the happenings in the garden and an ear trained on the parlor. He was mildly surprised that she'd not followed Meg upstairs earlier, but then that would have left Erik, Christine and Raoul without her quiet supervision. The three of them had proved more than once to be a volatile combination.

Antoinette did not even glance up as Erik entered. "If you intend to vent your displeasure on me, Erik, then you'd best turn back around again. I will not hear it."

He frowned, "Why did you not warn me about the boy, Antoinette?"

She lifted her eyes and closed the book with a sigh. "I did not think it my place. Meg intended to speak with Christine about the recent...developments in her friendship with le Vicomte." She shook her head, "I am afraid that my daughter did rather delay the conversation longer than she should have."

"Let us not mince words, Antoinette. I can clearly see that those two are far more than simply friends. What I wish to know is what you think of all this. Can that foolish fop be trusted with what he has discovered?"

One brow went up disapprovingly at the insult to the man who could very well become her son-in-law. "I assure you that he can be, Erik."

Erik waited a moment for her to say more, and when she did not, he found himself chuckling a little. "Already protecting him as you would a son, I see." She dropped her gaze slightly, and Erik sighed, "I do not suppose there is a chance that Monsieur Ranier might yet triumph over the boy?"

Antoinette's eyes narrowed, "Hold your tongue, Erik! That rogue will not be turning my daughter's head again, and I cannot be anything but grateful to le Vicomte for it."

"Then he has your approval in this…attachment?"

She sighed, "I admit that it was not always such…for obvious reasons. I'd not wished to see my daughter hurt. Yet I have watched them grow closer these past months, and I cannot deny their feelings for one another are genuine. So…yes, Erik…le Vicomte has my approval if he should require need of it."

Erik shook his head in defeat, "Why do I suddenly feel as though I will never be completely free of that damned boy?"

xXx

"Meg…may I ask you a question?"

"You just have," came the playful reply.

Christine smiled at Meg's improved spirits. Her friend had broken down in tears as soon as Christine had questioned her, apologizing for keeping the truth hidden. All had been forgiven, and the two had talked awhile about Raoul…all that he and Christine had spoken of…his feelings for Meg…hers for him…and all the fears that Meg still held about a possible future with the man she loved.

Yet it had become clear that Meg desperately wanted that future, though she tried her best hide it…covering with humor as she often did.

"Be serious, Meg. You must tell me…why was Monsieur Ranier traveling with you?"

Meg sighed, "He was not traveling _with_ me, Christine. Indeed, he claimed it was only a wonderful coincidence."

A brow went up. "Was it?"

Meg laughed, shaking her head. "Nothing Jean Ranier has ever done has been a coincidence." She sobered, "I told you he was determined. While none of his actions have ever been exactly disrespectable, he takes great pleasure in reminding me that he would be a far more suitable match for me than…"

"Raoul," Christine finished.

Meg nodded. "It is far more scandalous for a man of nobility to take up with an actress than for the wealthy, but common, owner of the Opera Populaire. More so when the man is le Vicomte de Chagny and the actress is the little ballerina who claims such close ties to Christine Daaé."

"I think I hate this Jean Ranier, Meg."

Her friend laughed again. "Then you should have a nice talk with Maman, for she feels the same. As does Raoul."

"And you?"

Meg shrugged. "I cannot seem to hate him outright. His unapologetic nature makes him oddly appealing."

Christine frowned slightly, "Certainly not more appealing to you than Raoul."

The blond smiled softly, "Can you doubt my heart after all of this, Christine? I love Raoul, but there are still so many things we've yet to settle between us."

"Then settle them." Christine smiled at her friend. "My daughter wishes to have her _Aunt_ Meg and _Uncle _Raoul happy."

Meg closed her eyes, her smile curving a little wider. "I shall certainly try not to disappoint."

xXx

The evening meal was, for the most part, a silent affair. Erik sat at the head of the table with a permanent scowl on his masked face. The white mask…the one Christine had returned to him after their wedding…was chosen specifically for the pleasure of further intimidating the Vicomte de Chagny. Raoul sat at the foot of the table, alternately exchanging glares with Erik and sending hopeful looks to Meg, who was still steadfastly ignoring him. Antoinette sat between her daughter and Raoul, quietly concentrating on her meal.

Christine tried her best to cut through the tension in the room with idle conversation, but she knew it was a hopeless cause. She studied Meg in mild irritation. After their talk, Christine had felt certain that her friend would speak with Raoul and they would sort everything out between them. Indeed, Christine had begun to feel rather giddy about the romance of it all…Raoul chasing after Meg in a fit of jealousy. She truly was happy that he had moved on. It was clear, however, that Meg still had doubts, because the moment she had seen him, she'd grown quiet and pensive once again. Poor Raoul was looking rather defeated, and Christine could not help but take pity on him.

"Raoul...I have not thought to ask you where you are staying in town. Do you have a room?"

He colored slightly, "I...came straight here before securing a room, but I am certain I will have no difficulty doing so when I return to town." His color deepened and his tone turned slightly beseeching. "That is, if I might ask for the loan of a horse to carry me there."

Erik chuckled in amusement, having been the reason that the Vicomte had no means of return. Christine frowned, spearing her husband with a quelling look before turning to Raoul. "You are welcome to stay with us this evening." She turned back to Erik with a stern glare, "Is he not, Erik?"

Erik's amusement faded in a flash and turned to a dangerous sneer. "Christine…!"

Their eyes met and held, and Christine refused to shy away from his show of temper.

Raoul cleared his throat. "A kind offer, Christine, but the horse will suffice..."

Erik growled, "You'll not be touching my horses, _Vicomte_." He stood abruptly, kicking the chair back and left the table without a backwards glance.

Christine sighed and pasted a bright smile on her face as she turned back to Raoul. "There, that is settled. I will have Katie ready a room for you."

Meg expelled a shaky breath, "If you will excuse me…I think I should like some air."

As she left the dining room, Raoul straightened in his chair, his eyes following her out. He glanced back to Christine with a hesitant smile, "A fine meal, Christine, but…"

Christine waved her hand and cut him off with one word, "Go."

He grinned boyishly and rushed off in pursuit of Meg, leaving Christine and Antoinette at the table.

Christine sighed, "Well that could have been much worse, I suppose."

Antoinette raised a brow, "It does seem rather encouraging that le Vicomte is still breathing."

xXx

Erik had headed straight into the music room, pouring out his confused emotions into the opera he had started to write. He was angry, of course. That had been ebbing and flowing since he'd first caught sight of the fop getting out of his coach. As much as he hated the boy, he'd managed to rein in his temper and keep from doing any physical harm. Once again, for Christine's sake. Erik knew she'd not have forgiven him for doing any permanent damage to the Vicomte.

Yet there was an odd sort of relief he felt at the confrontation. Perhaps it was merely a subconscious need for his rival to know that he'd won…to have the boy finally see them together…to see that Christine had truly chosen him. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that, once the initial fury at having been discovered by that fool had faded, Erik really hadn't had any taste for cold-blooded murder at all. Indeed, watching the boy all flustered and depressed at the hands of Little Giry had rather amused him. He almost felt…pity for the Vicomte. Erik hit a violent chord.

Pity? For that fop. Impossible!

As lost to the music as he was, he still knew the moment she entered. He didn't turn, only continued to play, letting the passion of his feelings flow into the notes. Only when he was finished and the last echo had faded did he acknowledge her presence.

"I thought you would be seeing to our guests, Christine."

She sighed, "Are you very upset with me for inviting Raoul to stay?"

Erik swung around on the bench to face her, careful to keep his face from betraying the last remnants of his temper. "_Why_ would you imagine me to be upset that your former fiancée is spending the night in_ my_ house?"

Her brows furrowed slightly, "There is really no need for such sarcasm, Erik."

"It keeps me from more destructive ventures."

Christine stepped forward and rested her palm against his bare cheek. "I am sorry, angel. I only thought that we should not send him away before he and Meg have reached some understanding."

Erik took Christine's hand from his face, linking his fingers through hers. He saw the determined hopefulness in her eyes, and he grinned in amusement. "Are you playing at matchmaker now, mon ange?"

She smiled down at him, "Merely creating opportunity." She bent to press a brief kiss to his mouth. "It is only one night, my love. I promise I will make it up to you."

The twinkle in her eyes told Erik that he would enjoy whatever she had in mind, and he sighed, reaching up to twine his fingers in her curls. The swell of their child brushed his chest, and for the first time since the boy had arrived, Erik felt content. "Your love is all the promise I need, Christine."

Her smile curved wider, and she bent to kiss him again. It was quite a little while before they rejoined their guests. In fact, when Erik and Christine did leave the privacy of the music room, the only person they found was Antoinette Giry, who jumped guiltily away from the parlor window with a strange smile on her face

Christine raised a brow, "Madame…" She shook her head once and amended, "Antoinette…" That still felt wrong somehow. "Have Meg and Raoul…spoken?"

Antoinette's smile bloomed a little. "They are still on the terrace…but I believe they have reached a resolution." Her expression sobered slightly. "I trust you both have, as well."

"We have." Erik lifted his wife's hand to his lips and placed a kiss there, and Christine gazed at him adoringly.

Antoinette nodded in approval, satisfied that everything was just as it should be.

It would be nearly another fifteen minutes before the terrace doors could be heard opening and closing. All activity in the parlor came to an immediate halt and three pairs of eyes swung to the doorway in time to see Raoul and Meg enter, hand in hand. Meg was blushing prettily, and Raoul was wearing a nervous grin as his eyes landed on Madame Giry.

Christine slipped her hand into Erik's, and he could sense his wife's excitement for her friend…no, both her friends. He silently resigned himself to the inevitable, even before the boy opened his mouth.

Raoul cleared his throat, "I…" He broke off and looked to Meg adoringly, "_We _have an announcement." Glancing briefly to Christine, and even more briefly to Erik, his eyes settled on Madame Giry, who had straightened in her chair expectantly. "I have asked Meg to become my wife…" He turned back to Meg and lifted their joined hands to his lips. "And she has agreed."

Antoinette Giry closed her eyes against the happy tears that were falling, and took a moment to compose herself.

Christine let out a little gasp, "Oh, Meg." She tugged Erik's hand impatiently, and with a sigh, he obeyed her silent command to help her stand. She rushed straight over to Meg and wrapped her friend in her arms. "I am so happy for you."

Meg whispered, "Thank you, Christine. I hardly know what to say."

Antoinette had also risen from her chair, and Erik gave her a thin smile before heading for the brandy decanter and pouring himself a glass. He watched as Meg was passed into her mother's arms, hugged tightly and then pulled into the corner for what he could only guess to be assurance that Meg knew what she was doing. Erik rather questioned the girl's choice himself, but there really was no accounting for taste. Christine clasped Raoul's hands and happily congratulated him. The boy offered a grateful smile, but his eyes were on Meg and her mother. Erik realized with some amusement that the Vicomte was nervous that Antoinette did not approve. The observation was confirmed when the boy made his way over to ask the older woman for her blessing.

Christine came to Erik, smiling up him. "Are they not simply adorable together, Erik?"

He grunted, thinking that his wife still had such a wide-eyed innocence about her at times. "You really do not wish for me to answer that, Christine. I find the entire turn of events to be rather irritating."

She frowned at him. "Please try to be civil, at least."

His eyes narrowed. "As you wish, mon ange."

Christine eyed him warily before returning to Meg's side with a smile. Erik poured a second glass of brandy, and stopped de Chagny just before the boy sat to join the three ladies. Raoul's eyes flashed with annoyance, and Erik grinned maliciously, shoving the glass into the boy's hands.

Civil? I can be civil.

"Hurt her and I'll hang you."

Erik's smiled broadened, and he left the four alone in the parlor. He really had no desire to listen to talk of weddings.

xXx

No one could have anticipated the strange company that was kept in the next weeks. Raoul de Chagny had decided to stay on at the Gate Inn so that he could be near his fiancée, and inevitably, Christine had insisted on inviting him for supper on several occasions, much to Erik's annoyance. Yet she seemed so pleased to have everything neatly settled…she was happy and in love with Erik…Meg and Raoul had found the same happiness with one another…and Christine wanted to think of them all as family. Erik found himself indulging her in this and simply attempted to avoid the Vicomte whenever he was in the vicinity. Raoul seemed content to do the same.

Both men realized that as long as Meg and Christine remained in one another's lives, they would both be cursed to share the same fate.

Meg, at least, took some pity on Erik and attempted to keep Raoul in town and away from the Rousseau house as much as possible. Or perhaps she'd taken pity on Raoul. Regardless, Erik rather suspected the two might have some ulterior motives for seeking out their privacy, and he had enlisted Mr. Bennett at the inn to make certain the couple remained respectable…an action that Antoinette wholeheartedly gave her approval to. There were still matters in Paris to be dealt with for the two of them. The approval of the Comte and Comtess de Chagny, for one thing…Monsieur Ranier's continued interference in pursuit of Meg, for another.

The primary focus for Erik and Christine was the impending birth of their child. Erik endeavored to take Antoinette Giry's advice on the matter, and he found himself stealing moments of utter contentment with Christine. More than once he had discovered himself crooning a lullaby to his wife and unborn child as they rested in the circle of his arms. Yet, for sometime, Erik resisted confessing his darkest fear to Christine. In fact, it was Christine who finally broached the subject, determinedly telling him that she intended to ask Madame Giry to watch over him and their child if anything should happen to her.

For a moment after her declaration, Erik sat in silence. His eyes grew stormy as he spoke. "You…must know that Antoinette would not be able to keep me from my darkness, Christine. If I lose you…" He shook his head, hating the way his voice broke. "You would be wiser to ask her…to ask Meg and the boy to take the child far away from me."

Tears spilled from Christine's pensive brown eyes, and she gripped at Erik's hand. "Please…Erik…you cannot mean that."

"You _know_ what I am capable of. Would you leave your child alone with me?"

"_Our_ child," she whispered fiercely. "Could you really turn her away?"

Erik sighed raggedly, "I…don't know, Christine. I don't know _what_ I could do." He brushed the tears from her cheek with his thumb. "Nor do you, mon ange."

Christine shook her head stubbornly, but she knew he was right. This was why they had both avoided this conversation for so long. She felt herself being drawn into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder as he stroked her hair. She closed her eyes tightly, willing her emotions back under control. She had no intention of leaving Erik or their child, but things needed to be said in case the choice was taken from her. "I need her to know you, Erik. Promise me…promise me that no matter what else may happen…you will always watch over her."

He swallowed heavily, fighting down his own tears. This promise, at least, he could give her, for he knew he could never completely abandon Christine's child. "The Angel of Music will always keep her under his wing."

It was as one that they extracted the solemn promise from Antoinette Giry to take charge of the situation if the need should arise. Erik and Christine even found a certain amount of relief in the task, and, on Christine's part at least, the focus soon shifted back to the joyful expectation of becoming a mother. She was eager to meet the life that she and Erik had made between them, and she would not have to wait very much longer.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes…you know what's next… 


	44. In Beauty

In Beauty

As her time grew closer, Christine's happy burden became increasingly difficult to bear, taking its toll on her aching back and making her generally uncomfortable. Restless nights became an increasingly common occurrence, and one in particular would prove to be very different from the others.

The day had seen her complaining about her back more than usual, and even Erik's skilled hands had not been able to bring her any relief. She had not eaten much at dinner, and retired early, yet been unable to sleep, or to even rest. She had laid on the bed for awhile, only to get up and pace a bit, then sit in the chair and attempt to read before abandoning the book to pace yet again.

Erik watched her with increasing nervousness. "Christine? You look most unwell…perhaps I should fetch the doctor."

She glared at him. "I am _not_ unwell. Only huge and miserable and rather resenting you for it right now, Erik."

Erik cringed at her tone. "Forgive me, mon ange."

Her eyes flashed. "Do not attempt to placate me."

He opened his mouth to respond, but he thought better of it. He knew whatever he might say would only darken her mood. He sat back in his chair and continued to watch her lap the room in silence. His heart stopped the very moment Christine did. One hand flew up to press low against her belly and a hiss escaped through clenched teeth. Erik jumped to his feet at once and placed a hand to her back. "Christine…are you well?"

She drew in a shaky breath. "Y-yes…I…" She gasped, leaning slightly forward. "Or perhaps not."

Erik laid a hand over hers, his heart pounding furiously in his ears. "The child?"

Christine closed her eyes and drew a calming breath. Erik would not hear the biting response on the tip of her tongue to such a foolish question. Instead she met his eyes evenly. "I…think it may be time, Erik."

Panic flashed in his eyes. "You think? Do you not know?"

She glared at him in annoyance then, and a trace of sarcasm crept into her voice. "I have never done this before, but if you would prefer we wait until I am certain…" Her words died on another pained gasp, and Erik felt the contraction against his hand.

He swallowed heavily, "I am going to wake Antoinette…"

Christine slowly expelled a breath. "I think that would be best."

He turned to leave, hesitated, then turned back to Christine. "Perhaps you should sit…"

She brushed his hand away from and growled, "Just go."

He nodded, paused only long enough to grab his mask and found himself pounding on the door of Antoinette's room. Then he wondered why in the hell he was bothering to knock, and wrenched open the door. Antoinette was wrapping her robe around herself even as Erik entered. "Christine…the child…now…"

Antoinette nodded, shaking the lingering drowsiness from her mind, and rushed into action. She pushed Erik back towards Christine. "Go and sit with her a moment. I will wake Meg and Katie."

Erik wandered mindlessly back into the bedroom to see Christine still pacing. "Christine?"

She offered a watery smile, "Erik…" She held out a hand to him, and he took it, gently enveloping her into his arms. Fear nearly overwhelmed him at the thought of what was about to happen. She whispered, "I love you."

Erik could barely breathe, let alone speak, but he managed to push the words past the tightness in his throat. "And I love you, mon ange."

The tender moment was interrupted by the arrival of Antoinette, followed closely by Meg and Katie. The three women expertly took over the situation, questioning Christine about her pains and succeeding in getting her to sit down where Erik had failed. His jaw tightened, and he was completely unaware that his hands had clenched into fists as well. The words in the room were buzzing in his mind without form until Antoinette looked at him expectantly. "Erik…you will need to fetch the doctor."

He looked at her blankly. "The doctor?"

The damned eyebrow went up and she looked at him as if her were a child. "Yes, Erik…the doctor. It will likely be a long night ahead of us, but you'd do best to retrieve him now. Do not worry…Christine will be in good hands until you return."

He huffed out a breath, pushing past the ladies and kneeling before Christine. He placed a hand to her stomach, and looked deeply into her eyes. "I shall not be gone long, mon ange."

Christine smiled crookedly down at him, a single tear trickling over her cheek. "We shall be here waiting, angel."

He rose and pressed a soft kiss to her lips before spinning away with purpose. He'd have Doctor Winston at Christine's side within the hour if he had to sell what was left of his black soul to do it.

xXx

Erik rode hard into town, making the trip in less than thirty minutes. He could feel the fingers of madness taking hold of him again, and he nearly dragged the doctor physically from his house, growling at the man in helpless frustration. Doctor Winston had not commented on the outbursts, having had years of dealing with expectant fathers in much the same state of mind. The two men had arrived at the Rousseau house not more than an hour and fifteen minutes from when Erik had left.

Christine had been pacing again when they arrived, looking slightly the worse for wear since Erik had last seen her. Her dark curls were wet with perspiration and her face was flushed. Still, she gave her husband a weak smile before the doctor steered her toward the bed and Erik was pushed out of the room by Antoinette.

His face darkened, "I am _not_ leaving her!"

The woman shook her head, "You must for the moment. Doctor Winston must examine her."

"Antoinette," he growled.

She shook her head sharply. "Calm yourself, Erik. You'll be no use to anyone otherwise."

Fists clenched again, he spun away and flew down the stairs, heading for the brandy decanter. He poured the amber liquid with a shaking hand, raised the glass to his lips and paused. Slamming the glass back to the table without taking a sip, he paced back to the foot of the stairs. As he stared up to the landing, Erik did something he could not recall doing in nearly a lifetime.

He prayed.

Please…God…do not take her from me.

I know I have done nothing to deserve your mercy, but I ask this for Christine. For the child she carries.

They are innocent.

Please…protect them.

I love them.

He closed his eyes against the ache in his heart, and placed his very soul in the hands of a higher power. Then, straightening his shoulders, Erik made his way back upstairs.

He would not leave Christine's side again.

xXx

One would think that after the many visits Doctor Winston had paid to the house and the many exams he had administered to Christine, that she would have fully gotten over the awkward embarrassment she felt at being so exposed. She had not. Yet she was slightly distracted from her usual discomfort at this occasion by the far more pressing discomfort of her labor.

Doctor Winston finished his exam with a smile and a nod to her. "Everything is progressing exactly as it should be, Mrs. Rousseau. I daresay we've still some time yet before this little one makes an appearance. You'll do best to try and rest while you can."

Rest? He must be jesting?

How could she possibly rest with the sharp pains that had been tearing through her abdomen every several minutes? Yet Christine knew this was only the beginning. Her pains were not yet overwhelming her, as she knew they soon would be. She was suddenly terrified that she truly wasn't strong enough to cope.

Doctor Winston left the room, and Christine smiled slightly at the sound of Erik's voice booming from the hallway. "It is about bloody time." She heard the doctor calmly tell her husband exactly what he had told her, and then Erik was beside her, reaching for her hand with one of his own as he brushed the hair away from her face. "How are you faring, mon ange?"

Christine met his eyes and saw the worry there. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I am well, my love."

"You lie. You are in pain and I am the cause."

She managed a weak laugh, "As I recall, we both had an equal hand in this. Whatever discomfort I feel shall be worth the blessing we are about to be given, Erik."

Christine could see by the storm in his eyes that he still doubted her words, and the time for simple reassurance was well past.

xXx

Darkness had been Erik's domain, his kingdom. Nighttime had given him power, given him comfort in the blanket of ebony that hid him from the world. His only light had been Christine, and she had been enough. Now, as the night engulfed them, Erik cursed every bleak, gray corner of it, for it dragged his angel deeper into an agony he could not pull her from.

The doctor had tried to eject him from the room some time ago, but Erik had refused to leave Christine's side. He cared nothing for propriety or the damned useless restrictions of custom. What man could wait quietly outside while the woman he loved screamed with the pain of bearing the life they had made together?

Christine gripped Erik's hand with a strength he'd not known her to possess, her nails biting deeper into his skin, drawing blood. He welcomed the sting of it. He could do nothing else.

She was panting, struggling to catch her breath between contractions. Her curls were plastered to her head, dripping now with the sweat that beaded on her face and trickled over her perfect, flushed skin. She had cursed at him…words he had not known to be in her vocabulary…in French and English…and he thought he'd caught a few Scandinavian phrases, as well. Between curses, Christine begged him to sing for her.

"What would you like to hear, mon ange," he had asked.

"I don't care…anything…just as long as I hear your voice," she'd said.

And so Erik had done the only thing he could for his angel as she weakened with the labor of giving their child life. He had given her his music.

xXx

Christine had never known just how much pain a woman's body could endure...nor for how long. Around her, she was aware of all the comings and goings...Doctor Winston monitoring her progress...either Madame Giry or Meg bathing her face with cool rags...offering support and encouragement...but one constant remained.

Erik.

She held on to him as though her very life depended upon it, and in her worst moments, Christine truly believed that it did. Every hour that passed seemed to sap more of her strength, but she knew she could not give in to her pain and exhaustion. Her child needed her. Erik needed her.

Hours faded together, lasting forever...yet melting away eventually into the morning light as it peaked though the windows. Doctor Winston was urging Christine to push, and she felt as though she was being ripped in two. The pain...the pressure...nearly unbearable...and then...then there was blessed relief.

A moment of absolute silence.

Then the cry of a baby split the air, loud and strong.

Christine's heart was pounding wildly beneath her breast, pumping exhilaration through her blood and into her exhausted muscles. The sound was so beautiful to her and she focused on Doctor Winston's face as he saw to the child. He was smiling when he looked at Christine.

"A daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Rousseau. Strong and healthy."

She closed her eyes against the tears streaming over her cheeks. She gave another grateful squeeze to Erik's hand, opening her eyes again to see the baby being brought to her by the doctor. Her breath caught and held, her arms suddenly aching for the precious weight of her child, and she reached out to hold her daughter for the first time.

Erik's eyes never left Christine. The torture she had endured had torn at his soul, and he could not quite believe that it had truly ended. Even as he'd heard the first cries of their daughter and silently rejoiced, part of him was still expecting this moment to slip away. He hadn't been able to look at the child yet, instead watching his wife reach out with trembling hands to take the tiny babe into her arms.

Christine's eyes had already been brimming over with tears, but the flow increased as she gazed down at her daughter. An expression of love unlike anything Erik had ever seen lit her face. "Oh...Erik..." Her voice was a reverent whisper. "She is so beautiful."

Taking a deep breath, Erik dropped his eyes away from Christine and onto the child. His chest tightened painfully and he could barely breathe at the first sight of his daughter…his perfect daughter. Her skin was flushed red, but there was not a blemish on her tiny face. A face already framed with a cap of dark curls.

She will look like Christine.

He knew in that moment, without a doubt, that he would do anything for this child…just as he would do anything for her mother. He could scarcely believe that he'd had any part in making something so beautiful. "Exquisite." He pressed a soft kiss to Christine's cheek, unable to stop the tears that thickened his voice. "My love…my angel…thank you..."

"Angel…" Christine whispered. "Angelique." She turned to Erik with a watery smile, seeing the stunned adoration in his eyes. "She must have a name, Erik. I can think of none more appropriate, can you?"

Without conscious thought, he found himself tracing a trembling finger over the baby's soft cheek. "Angelique." He smiled. "Bel ange."

xXx

Angelique Christine Rousseau had met nearly everyone who would ever be of any real consequence to her life on the very first day of her existence. Indeed, Antoinette and Meg had taken turns gushing over the baby, just as any grandmére and aunt should do. Katie had made a solemn vow to watch over her new little mistress for as long as she remained in the Rousseaus' service. Even le Vicomte de Chagny came to call and offered his sincerest congratulations to the new parents.

Of course, the two most important people to Angelique had been the two most in awe of her. Christine had quickly forgotten the pain of childbirth and stubbornly resisted the exhaustion threatening to overcome her just for the pleasure of holding her daughter in her arms. Erik had not left their side, and studied his daughter with an artist's eye, learning every detail and marveling at the being he'd helped to create.

Yet when Christine smiled at him and asked him if he wished to hold their daughter, he had hesitated. "I…do not think that I should, mon ange."

Christine frowned at him. "Of course you should, Erik."

He looked at Angelique longingly, "I might…hurt her."

Christine smiled at him. "I trust you. Our daughter trusts you."

Drawing a breath, Erik let his wife transfer the tiny baby into his arms, slowly…carefully…until he sat beside Christine holding their daughter awkwardly. He felt the wetness on his cheeks as he sat staring down at the wriggling bundle. Angelique looked up at him with wide blue eyes that already hinted at turning to the same vivid aqua color of his own. Unhappy with the way her father was holding her, she began to wail, and panic flickered in Erik's eyes. "Christine?"

She was watching him though a sheen of tears, a trembling smile upon her lips, and she whispered, "Hold her closer, Erik. Let her know her papa has her."

He sighed raggedly, shifting the baby slightly in his arms until they were both more comfortable. The crying lessened…and Erik began to feel a little more confident. Smiling tentatively down to his daughter, he began to sing a lullaby. At once, the crying stopped and Angelique happily settled into her father's strong arms.

Christine leaned her head against Erik's shoulder, her heart nearly bursting with happiness at the sight of father and daughter together. The love she felt for them had no equal…and she knew Erik felt the same. There would be obstacles yet to overcome, of course. Erik would never be easy, and their daughter would certainly bring them both a great many challenges in the future.

But for the moment, their little family was perfectly content.

And it was only the beginning.

* * *

**A/N:** There you have it…Baby Phantom…their little angel. Only one more chapter…a sort of epilogue. 


	45. In Future

In Future

London  
Six Years Later

Covent Garden was the home of the Royal Opera House, and as such, proudly laid claim to both the talents of an eccentric masked composer and the finest soprano in all of Europe. It had been a blessed day indeed when Monsieur Erik Rousseau had arrived in London by train over three years before to play his new opera_, La Fleur dans la Nuit_, for the manager, Mr. Williams. Quick to recognize genius when he saw it, Williams had commissioned Erik immediately. Equally quick to recognize opportunity, Erik had inquired about arranging an audition for his wife. Mr. Williams had been somewhat reticent at first, not wishing to place himself in the position of insulting the composer so soon into their relationship, but he had consented to hear Madame Rousseau. It was a decision that had begun a very fruitful relationship for all involved. Christine Rousseau, quite simply, possessed the most exquisite voice ever to be heard upon the stage.

The Rousseaus resided in a fine manor outside of London that had been designed and built by Erik himself. The house was a beautiful structure, the architecture drawing on classical designs, yet flavored with a decidedly modern character. The building was situated perfectly upon a lush green landscape, surrounded by gardens overflowing with flowers of all kinds, the most cherished among them being the red roses. Spreading out behind the house was a peaceful little pond that served as a happy home for an array of fish and several ducks.

On this bright and sunny afternoon, which itself was quite a cherished occurrence in London, the mistress of the house sat laughing at the antics of her children as they tackled their father to the ground. Gustave Rousseau, at the tender age of only four, already possessed the keen intellect and all the catlike agility of his father. His older sister by two years, Angelique, was a handful with her father's indomitable will and slightly devious, albeit genius, mind. Both had inherited their mother's pure heart and loving nature. At the moment, they were combining their considerable talents to defeat the dreaded Phantom of the Opera.

Christine's musical laughter drifted on the breeze as Erik lay on the ground, two tiny bodies pinning him more effectively than any restraints ever could. Gustave sat triumphantly upon his father's chest; his riot of ebony curls framing wide brown eyes that currently sparkled with proud victory, while Angelique knelt over her father with hands pressed against his shoulder; her blue-green eyes glinting with satisfaction and her mahogany curls slipping free of her hair ribbon.

"Surrender, papa."

He raised a brow on his unmasked face and speared his daughter with his most intimidating look, growling, "Never."

Erik turned quickly towards his daughter, wrapping his arms around his son and sitting up. Angelique squealed and jumped back, and Gus began to giggle madly. Erik stood gracefully, hoisting the laughing boy into the air and tucking him under his arm as he chased after his daughter who ran to hide in her mother's skirt.

"You little Delilah…do you think your mama can save you from me?"

Christine pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a very unladylike snort. Erik directed a raised brow at his wife as he carefully let Gustave slide down his body to the ground, and the boy immediately wrapped himself around his father's leg. "Mon ange, I believe these little ruffians belong to you."

She grinned, "Oh, no, Erik…they are entirely yours today."

Angelique huffed at her mother's words, placing her little hands on her hips and glaring at Christine in a pose very much like her father's. "Mama! You are supposed to save us from him."

Christine laughed, leaning forward and wrapping her daughter in her arms. "And who will save you from me, bel ange?" She placed a rain of kisses over her daughter's face until Angelique was giggling and squirming to get away from the attack.

Gustave, not wanting to be left out, relinquished his grip on his father's leg and launched himself into his mother's arms, as well. After a similar assault on her son, Christine stood and glanced down at her children, "Come now, you two…time for a bath. You've both made a mess of yourselves."

Two little faces wore matching expressions of horror. Gustave pouted, "Do we haf' to?"

Angelique shook her head furiously, sending her curls flying. "I do not want a bath."

Erik chuckled, "I would suggest you both heed your mother or you will have no dessert tonight."

Angelique crossed her arms, glaring up at her mother, "Does papa have to have a bath?"

Erik grinned wickedly at his wife, "Yes, mon ange…shall papa have a bath, as well?"

She smiled sweetly at her husband, "He shall if he wants _his_ dessert tonight."

He laughed, scooping Gustave up into one arm, then swooping down to lift Angelique. "Baths all around, then."

Christine watched them with a fullness in her heart that had grown steadily during the past six years. There had been rough patches, of course, especially in those first years when Erik had been quick to sink back into his dark brooding. His volatile nature had not disappeared, though he'd learned somewhat to control his temper. Christine suspected that was more for the sake of their children than anything. There was simply nothing that Erik would not do for his son and daughter.

Angelique had wrapped her papa around her finger from the moment of her birth and had learned early how to use her power over him. Christine smiled to herself, knowing very well that her daughter had the very same power over her mother. And Gustave had been an apt pupil of his big sister.

While Angelique had been born without a blemish, Gustave had not been quite as lucky. He had a small imperfection in the skin at his right temple and around his ear which was almost entirely covered now by his thick hair. Yet at his birth, Erik had fallen into a blackness of self loathing from which he'd been nearly inconsolable. He'd left their house for days, and Christine had begun to fear he would never come back to her. She nearly hadn't forgiven him when he finally did. To this day, she had not asked him the details of what he had done in those days away from her. She truly had no desire to know. Not long after that, they had begun to talk of finding a position at an opera house once again.

Music had always filled their home, but there had been something missing from their quiet life in Dover. The thrill of the stage. The performance. Erik had never stopped composing, and he craved an outlet for his creations. Christine had craved the same…for her husband and for herself. There had never been any second thoughts about moving to London.

Mr. Crawford had been loathe to see Erik go, yet the man had understood that music was what truly called to the young couple. London was only a short train journey, and the Rousseaus often returned to Dover to spend holidays on the white sands by the ocean. They'd had many visits with the Crawford family, including the young barrister that Victoria Crawford had eventually married. A man her father had been very happy to introduce her to.

Despite Erik's success as a composer, he still preferred the solitude of their manor and had little tolerance for polite society. Nor did Christine really care much for the demands of public life, and she was far more content to spend time with her little family than strangers she had to perform to. They had both made one or two trusted new friends in London, and Christine and Erik were both ever grateful that Madame Giry and Meg remained in constant correspondence, though they'd not seen each other nearly as often as any of them would like.

It was to be expected, of course, as Meg had married Raoul soon after returning to Paris and they had started a family of their own. Christine grinned, thinking how very much Erik disliked Meg's choice of a husband, but he'd managed to tolerate the few visits they'd had. It was rather an odd thing to think of Meg as a Comtess, but Erik and Christine had both learned to accept such little oddities of life, as true happiness was often found in the most unexpected places.

Long after the night had fallen and the children had been tucked into bed, the couple sat side by side at the piano in the music room, as they often did. Erik was nearly finished with a new opera, and Christine found herself lost in the beauty of the aria that he played. When the last notes had faded, Erik turned to his wife, "Well, mon ange, do you approve?"

She smiled, "You know I do, my love."

He nodded, "I think I shall have it performed in the coming season. You, of course, shall have the lead."

Christine was certain that her husband intended to see to it that his will was done. Some things would never change. Her smile softened, and she slipped her hand into his. "Erik…I am afraid you may need to consider casting another soprano."

He tensed, looking at her sharply, "Why would I need to do such a thing?"

Her eyes fairly sparkled as she brought his hand to rest over her abdomen. "Because I shall be busy with another of your productions, my love."

Erik's eyes darkened momentarily with the same uncertainty she'd seen twice before, but his lips curved slowly upwards and his voice was tender as he spoke. "A role you were born to play, mon ange."

Erik leaned forward, capturing his wife's lips in a reverant kiss. Christine had done far more than simply save him from his solitude…she had brought him life in all its agonizing splendor. The light, the darkness, the joy and the pain. Woven through it all was the unbreakable bond of their love.

His angel.

Her phantom.

Two of the precious few who understood that happily ever after is only what you make of it.

**_Fin_**

* * *

**A/N: **Well, there you have it. The end of the tale. Thank you all so much for sharing it with me. It has been a true pleasure to write (again) and hear all your comments. 

This last chapter was initially the epilogue I wrote before I decided to extend the story…and it still fit…so there it is. I wrote another version of the epilogue which I will soon be posting as a one-off. I guess you could call it an extra-fluffy one chapter sequel to both _A&P _and _LC_. So keep an eye out for it.

One last time...I invite anyone who is interested in the Meg-Raoul side of the story to read _Little Conversations._

I have another story idea in the works…but only time will tell if it materializes.

Again...a very sincere thanks to all of my reviewers who I have had such fun corresponding with this past month and a half. I hope to be able to repeat the experience.

So until next time…


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